My mother on her wedding day, March 1947
I always know what day of the week it is, but I don't always note the date. So it was probably sometime late in the morning when I realized yesterday was October 11. It would have been just another day in October, except October 11 is my mother's birthday. Born, just after the start of World War I in 1914, she would have been 103 this year.
My mother died in the winter of 1990, so there haven't been birthday celebrations in a long time. Sometimes it seems that my mother has been gone for decades -- and she has -- and the pain of her passing has quieted and is dormant. But on other days, like today, the pangs of missing her are vibrant and very much present. My feelings tonight are a mix of sadness and gratitude. Sad not to have had more years with my mother and grateful for the good times and legacy that I was given.
Thanks, Mom, for home baked cakes and teaching me how to bake. Thanks, for infinite trips to the library and museums and winter afternoons at the Y in Hartford for swimming lessons. Thanks for a million memories. You were the best!