Happy Birthday, Mom

Today, February 3^rd, would have been my mother’s 72^nd birthday.

I remember the year she bought a bumper sticker that read:

IT'S NIFTY TO BE FIFTY.

My father – two years older than her – was aghast at the idea that she would affix this to the car and announce her age.

I know that while Mom did not celebrate her age, turning fifty did not seem to upset her the way it does for some.

As for me, I typically don’t feel that fifty (one) is “old” and, as I often tell people, from the inside looking out I see the world through younger eyes -- albeit eyes that now need reading glasses.

I do sometimes feel “old” when I meet up with former school mates who tell me about their kids being in university, or who tell me about their grandchildren.

But when I realized yesterday that my mother would be 72, it really underscored the fact that I am no longer in the “spring chicken” age category.

My mother was only two years older than I am now when she succumbed to breast cancer, which gives me cause to consider my own mortality. However, as I am in relatively good health – aside from medication-controlled Hypertension and Type II Diabetes – I am not all that worried about prematurely popping my clogs, as the British would say.

I recall one of my older cousins – one of my mother’s contemporaries – telling me that he would often have moments when he had some good news and would reach for the phone, intending to share that moment with his own mother. He would stop himself, though, as he realized that she had passed away a few years before, and that his reaction was simply a life-long habit.

I, too, have experienced that urge to share news with my mother, or knew that she could have answered a question I could not – such as, “Who was that person…?” or “Where was it that…?” Again, the realization that I could no longer contact her would hit with unexpected disappointment. It still does, sometimes.

I often wonder how my mother would consider today’s technology. Personal computers were just becoming commonplace in the home when she passed away. Cordless phones were becoming popular, but cellular phones were still shoebox sized.

That a device the size of a pack of king-size cigarettes would have as much, or more, computing power as a desk-top PC would, I believe, leave her flabbergasted.

Not that she wouldn’t have embraced the new technology. While she often would hearken to the simpler times of her youth – and lesser prices – she still would adopt new technology if she found it to be convenient.

I am sure that email, internet chat, and perhaps even social networking sites like facebook would have replaced our regular phone calls when I was living in southern Ontario.

I think, what I miss the most is not being able to share my successes with my mom.

She bought me my first computer back in the early 1990s, with the caveat that I was to use it develop my writing skills.

She would be pleased, and I am sure quite proud, to see this column.

Likewise, she would have been quite proud to read a guest column that I had had published in the United Church Observer a few years ago, and the several short plays I wrote which were performed by the youth at my church.

And she would have been over-the-moon with my second graduation from Algoma University – with a degree in Music – and from Teacher’s College at Lakehead University a year later.

I remember getting ready to head to London to work for a second summer at a summer camp when Mom asked if I would be coming back to attend my first graduation from Algoma. She was quite disappointed that I would not be doing so, as there really would not be time – we only got one day off each week.

She had dropped-out of high school after grade 10, and was also attending Algoma as a part-time mature student – studying for a Music  degree. I would have been the first person in the family to have ever graduated from university.

I wish I could have attended, but it just wasn’t feasible.

In fact, I have never attended a graduation ceremony, other than from grade eight.

My grandfather (my Mom’s father) had passed away a few days before my high school graduation. I did not attend the actual ceremony for my second graduation from Algoma, and was back in the Sault when the Lakehead ceremony took place.

Perhaps I should have, if only to honour my mother’s memory. But, what’s done is done.

I do know that she would be proud of my accomplishments, whether or not I attended the ceremonies.

I mentioned that Mom had dropped-out of high school, but that was not the roadblock to success it might have been.

She entered the workforce, initially working as a waitress at a couple of local restaurants. She then took a job at a downtown branch of the Royal Bank, later switching to the CIBC where she would enjoy a nearly 20-year career. Like her father, my mother had very acute mathematical abilities, able to perform complex equations in her head; an ability that I, unfortunately, do not share.

Mom left the bank in the late '70s as she and my father embarked on a new venture: teaching music from their home. At the height of its existence they had 200 students between them; Dad teaching the advanced piano students, as well as guitar and trumpet, Mom teaching the beginning students and Theory.

She would be proud of my musical ability. I do recall a time when she and my dad had come home from shopping to find me playing the piano. (Usually I did not play when they were home, so they rarely heard me playing.) They were both (and I say this with the utmost humility) astonished at the level of skill I was displaying.

Studying jazz piano at university has further improved my playing, and I am disappointed that she never got to hear any of my performances in the Jazz Ensemble, nor the occasions when I have played organ and conducted the choir at various area churches, including my own.

Speaking of “feeling old,” there is a piece on the late news as I write this detailing the situation in the Falklands, and Prince William’s deployment there; the main thrust of the story being the still-simmering dispute and memories of the conflict that occurred almost 30 years ago. Thirty years? Wow.

But I digress…

Despite the sense of loss that I still feel, I cannot help but smile when I think of my Mom – which I do, frequently.

Certainly my life hasn’t been perfect. I have been either out of work or under-employed far too many times (including currently); I was married, and then divorced five years later; I have no children.

Still, mine really has been a good life so far, and I know that I have my mother to thank.

My morals and values developed under her influence. Certainly my work ethic mirrors that of my mother’s.

I don’t know if I should say “most importantly,” but I owe my cooking skills to my mother, as well.

In fact – and I offer this with both pride and humility – my mother let me know that my cooking skills had surpassed hers, after I had cooked a complete Thanksgiving dinner for the family.

Sometimes, when I cook a particularly tasty meal, I think of Mom, and how much she would have enjoyed it, too.

In re-reading what I have written it does seem like I am talking more about myself than my mom. Then again, I am who I am in large part because of my mom.

And I know she would be proud of me.

I just did the math and, as difficult as it is for me to believe, it has been 19 years since she passed away.

I have missed her every day since.

Happy Birthday, Mom!