Mom’s 84

Tomorrow, my mom turns 84 years old.  And no, that’s not 84 years young.  She will be 84.  Years.  Old.  Still shrinking.  Queen of the Hobbits.  And yes, she has no idea what a Hobbit is.  She does not understand what a blog is.  She is still calling it a, “bug”.

Quite remarkable when you consider that just over a year ago Mom was diagnosed with lung cancer.  This, after smoking unfiltered cigarettes for nearly 70 years.  Yeah, that’s not a misprint.

Mom opted for treatment, which included radiation, chemotherapy, and two weeks of preventive brain radiation, and a year later she has been told she is in remission.  Not that she’ll accept that diagnosis.  “How can the doctors know that?”

I almost forgot, a month into her treatment Mom underwent major abdominal surgery and spent 10 days in the hospital.  During the surgery they removed a bread package, “twist tie” which had perforated her bowels.  She apparently had ingested the twist tie by accident while making a sandwich.  In those 10 days she threatened to walk (or crawl) out of the hospital 174 times.

And here she is, turning 84.  Her hair has grown back, silver and dark as well.

I mentioned Mom prominently in my book, and often here, in my blog.  She is adamant that everything I have written about her is not true or grossly inflated, but luckily, that is not the case.

We have so much to be thankful for that Mom is still with us.  Still complaining.  Still driving?????  But not smoking, thank goodness.

Mom is one of a kind and we hope she continues to be one of a kind for some time to come.  She will never outgrow being a miserob.  And we wouldn’t want her any other way.  Mom optimistic?  Sunny?  The world might as well end right here and now.

Happy Birthday Lucille.  We can never repay you for all of the load you carried raising four sons on your own and then raising extended families years on after that.  You have deserved a rest.  Just not a final rest.

Tomorrow she’ll tell me that she cleaned the kitchen floor and changed the cat litter boxes and that she’s making veal stew for John’s dinner.  She’ll tell me about her latest conspiracy theory and that she saw a dear departed member of the family standing right next to her.  And we will be happy and thankful that she did.

We love you Mom.  For all you have done and do.  For still making holiday cookies.   For watching 12 episodes of Family Feud per day.  For feverishly watching the daily number even though you haven’t played it in years.

Don’t change, Mom.  And don’t go anywhere.  We’d miss you.