Thirty Nine

Tomorrow is my mother’s birthday.

If I’m being completely honest, I have to think before I can tell you how old she would be.  It’s not that I don’t care or don’t remember, it’s that for so long my mother went around telling people that she was 39, that I actually lost track of how old she really was.

The last birthday we celebrated with my mother I made reservations at Pappadeaux and we almost missed them altogether because A&M was playing Alabama.  I had to practically drag my dad and Jeff out of the house and we listened to the rest of the game on the radio.  A&M won that game and we spent most of my mother’s birthday dinner talking about the Aggies and Johnny Football and how we couldn’t believe that we had actually won.

I don’t think she minded one bit.

I can’t even remember if I bought her an angel food cake – for some reason I feel like I did and it was terrible.  While we were in China, we had taken the girls to a photography studio and made her and Jeanette photo books as birthday gifts.  We gave her that and a new ESV Bible.  She wanted one because a lot of the women in her Bible study had switched to ESV and liked it.



We didn’t know it would be her last birthday here.  If we would have known, would we have done anything differently?  I don’t know.  We didn’t do anything special, but that’s what made it special.  We were together.  We were happy.  We were celebrating my mother.

So here’s to my mother on her birthday.  As with every day, she’ll be in my head, on my mind, and all around me.  I’ll think of her when I wake Macy up for school, when I pack lunches, when I pick up Selah, when I drive down the road.  She’ll be with me when Kate says, “Mama!”, when Daddy and I talk on the phone, and when I fold the clothes and put them away.

Happy birthday Mom.  I love you.


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