On February 26th it will be your birthday. You would have been 94, passing on 15 days after your 53rd birthday. On my last birthday I turned 53. Fifteen days after that would make it January 28th—reaching the point of being older than you when you died.
Seems kind of morbid talking about it like that, but I would think that anyone who has lost their mother at a young age feels that way. Will I live as long as my mom? My older sister and brother have been in the clear for a while now. Little sister Ruthie still has some time to go—not much. I guess the next age we shoot for is passing Dad’s age of death. He was 89—four months shy of his 90th. What does it all mean? Who knows. Just random thinking.
If you were alive, I’d give you a foot massage and a pedicure. Chances are I’d be doing that for you anyway. I did it for Dad. He had some thick toenails. One time I struggled so much trying to cut them that the big clippers slipped and I cut too close and made him bleed. I felt so bad. He didn’t trust me after that. “Lynn, not too close!” and I can’t blame him.
If I recall, your toenails were thicker. I’d probably need a hacksaw to trim them. I think my children have already made it clear that they are not going to be giving me a pedicure. Perhaps I should have kept my mouth shut when I finished doing Dad’s toes. Then I might have a chance of getting a pedicure in my old age.
I remember when I was little, I didn’t really think of you as old, but I did think that my best friend’s mom was especially young—and she was! Now that I’m the age that you died, I think how young! But I really suppose it’s all in our attitude and how we feel.
But life is what it is… and whatever you are doing these days, Happy Birthday!