Ninety

I am grateful today for my mom, whose birthday is today. Her name is Carolyn. (You may remember that I mentioned her before in this blog.) She would have been 90 today, but she passed away from a chronic blood disease ten years plus a few days ago. My mom was an intensely good person. I know that as her son I am not objective. But that’s how it should be. Everyone who knew her loved her, or at least liked her. Sure, maybe there were people out there that didn’t like her, but those people’s opinions don’t matter. 

She grew up in California with her mom and four brothers. She went to Colton High School, met and married my dad Bill in the mid-1950’s, and together they raised five good kids. Many of her brothers lived close by, so we had lots of cousins about our age to play and fight with. We grew up with a sense of family that didn’t feel forced, and certainly wasn’t lonely. 

My mom did so much for us. She never got a driver license, which in Southern California was an anomaly. That didn’t slow her down. Fortunately my dad had a union job at a rock plant in Rialto for years. We didn’t have a lot of money, but he had a regular work week and mostly free weekends when we would galavant around the countryside or make memories with our extended family. I didn’t realize then how much that regular schedule was a godsend, a backdrop for what seemed at the time a very normal rhythm of life. I did not know how blessed we were while all around us raged the adult world of neglect, poverty, animosity, broken relationships, avarice, and plain old thoughtlessness. But our parents, through their example and their words, taught us that the world is generally a good and decent place, and we needed to be the same because that was the only fair response to our advantageous situation. 

As I write this, I know that some of my friends and family didn’t have the advantages my siblings and I were blessed with. Not monetary wealth, but family security. For those people – and there are many – I say that I see you. I know from knowing you what cost is wrought from lacking that sense of security and the outlook of a largely benevolent world, or at least a benign one. I consider myself lucky. 

When I was about ten years old, I decided to make a birthday cake for my mom. What I remember most was going to my friend’s house with an empty coffee can to ask for some powdered sugar to make buttercream frosting. After making the frosting and presenting the cake to Mom, I realized that I should have washed the coffee can before going after the powdered sugar. The frosting was coffee flavored! It may have been a trendy flavor, but disappointing for this ten-year-old. Mom liked the cake anyway, or so she said. She also reminded me that her birthday would not be for a few more days. But she did it kindly. She did not embarrass me in front of my family.

This month, we visited the top of Mount Scott where the family gathered to scatter Mom’s ashes years ago. It was moving to spend time in this beautiful spot while a steady breeze blew across the endless sky. We said prayers of thanks for having her in our lives. Mom treated people with kindness all the time. The life she lived was an example to me that I will never forget. I hope that the kindness I express to others, when I am wise enough to do so, reflects well on her and her positive influence on my life.

Best wishes to you one and all. God bless you.