My Mother at 80

Today is my mother’s 80^th birthday.  Yes, I said IS, not would have been as people often say when someone is dead but they are remembering a birthday. It’s still my mom’s birthday even though she has been dead since January of 2019.

It’s still 10/4! It’s her day. Ten-four is something truckers say over CB radios, and maybe other people say it over CB radios. I’m not well versed in CB radio culture and standard operating procedures. I do know that my step-dad used to say that my mom “talked like a truckah or a long shahman.” Translating from his original Bostonian, this means that she usually had a string of profanities coming from her mouth at any given moment of the day, much like the hardworking people in those roles. At least, that is how it was in his mind.

I had planned to celebrate Mom’s birthday by doing things she would never do. I had planned to get up at 5 and take a 6:15 strength training class at the gym. At about 6 last night, after taking a yoga class while dealing with a migraine, I remembered who I was as a person and canceled that early morning class. Who am I kidding? I’m not THAT much different from my mom.

So, I started my day in a way much more similar to the way she would have started it, by making coffee. Mom’s coffee was Folger’s, or later in life, whatever Keurig cups I surprised her with from Amazon. She drank her coffee black while sitting on the couch doing the daily crossword puzzle in the local paper. At some point, she would nibble on store bought iced molasses cookies, or “I smell asses” as she called them. That used to make my son laugh so much.

My coffee is Starbuck’s Blond Roast, and I make it in my Cuisinart coffee maker that grinds the beans for you. Sometimes, I drink my coffee black, but today I have added soy milk. I usually do Wordle at this time, but today I’m writing this. When I’m finished, I’m going to make a quinoa and apple chicken sausage breakfast bowl.  I’m starting to see why Mom called me a Yuppie.

Once my step-dad died, and Mom lived alone, I’m honestly not sure what she did with her days. She didn’t read books, just the newspaper and whatever tabloid she picked up during her weekly trip to Publix, where she chatted with cashiers and anyone, really. For a brief time, she was a Red Hat lady. After that fizzled out for her, she spent much of her time alone.

And that is how the officers found her when they did a wellness check. Her mail had piled up, and the mailman she used to chat with sounded the alarm. They found her in her recliner, dead. She had likely been dead for a few days, judging by her condition. I immediately felt guilty that she had died this way. It was my son, her biggest fan, who reminded me of the many times I tried to get her to move close to us or at least to a senior community, even putting up a down payment on a condo.  She was stubborn, always refusing. Unfortunately, you can’t force people to accept help. If only she would have let us move her and take care of her, she might be here this morning cussing up a storm and eating cookies.