Two years ago (only weeks before she passed away), she, my husband and I spent her birthday weekend camping in Winter Garden, not too far from where our son and his wife live. They were having new carpeting installed, and we had promised them we'd help rip out the old carpet in order to help them save some money. Mother sat comfortably in the living room, reading and watching television, while we helped hammer down nails that were sticking up in the plywood flooring upstairs.
That's just how she was; perfectly content sitting there for quite a few hours as the rest of us went about the business at hand.
She would have much rather been helping us, though. In fact, on of my trips downstairs to check on her, she asked, "Is there anything I can do to help?"
In her day, there wasn't anything Mom couldn't do. She used to love working in the yard. When she came to live with us, and she could no longer do that kind of work, she would see me out in the back yard pulling weeds, trimming the hedges and breathlessly sweating, and she'd often say, "I wish I could help you."
I know I've mentioned in previous posts how much she enjoyed ironing. Yes, it's true. She actually enjoyed ironing. In fact, giving up ironing was much harder for my mother to do than giving up driving! So, when I'd complain about all the ironing I had to do, she'd always say, "I wish I could help you," which would remind me of how lucky I was to be able to stand on two legs.
When mother turned 89, we celebrated her birthday in a big way. We had a surprise party for her at our son's house, inviting all the known family. My brother even surprised her by coming in from San Antonio, Texas.
Here she is, entering my son and daughter-in-law's house, totally surprised.
(Look at my silly Sam trying to be the first one in the house, going between her legs.)
She asked me why we threw such a big party for her 89th birthday. "Do you think I won't be here next year?" she asked.
We always celebrated Mom's birthday in as big a way as possible - except the year she passed away.
Two years ago.
We did go to a restaurant and have a nice birthday dinner with some family, but it wasn't the big blow-out we had grown accustomed to.
I wish I had known. I would have done so much more.
I just wish I had known.
The passage of time does not make me miss her less, though it has slightly softened the pain.
I carry your heart, Mother. I carry it in my heart.
Happy birthday!
