By G. E.
Shuman
I don’t
remember mentioning in another column what I’m about to share, but if I did,
please forgive me. We’re all friends here, right? Lately, my ‘rememberer’ isn’t
what it used to be, and what it used to be wasn’t all that good either.
Anyway, here
goes. Almost exactly a year ago Lorna and I made a trip to Florida to celebrate
my mom’s birthday. It was to be a very special birthday, and a big party had
been planned for her. I happened to mention that this was going to happen to
one of my high school English classes at the time and was met with several
surprised looks. One girl in the front row, with eyes so wide it looked like
she had swallowed her eraser or something, simply blurted out: “YOUR mother is
still alive?” Now I know teenagers aren’t often known for their tact, but this
seemed a bit rude to me; at least until I had given it more thought. Yes, she’s
very much alive, I answered the girl. She actually still flies to Maine each
summer to visit, and I continued, she still rides her Harley. (That Harley
point was a lie. I just couldn’t resist.) I do have a great pic of her sitting
on my brother’s bike not that many years ago, though.
That
birthday, last February, was Mom’s one hundredth; yes, one hundredth, and in
thinking about that, while looking at me, and in commenting, I guess it’s easy
to see why that young girl’s eyes were so wide. What I had said in class that
day must have seemed like an impossibility to her. It nearly does to me.
For about
the past year, ever since the party, Mom has begun doing something new. Each
evening at about seven o’clock, and I mean every single evening at about seven
o’clock, she calls me from her Florida home, for just a few minutes. I told our
eight-year-old granddaughter Nahla about this, and, with a sheepish look and a
slight giggle, she said: “Papa, she’s tucking you in.” Since
telling Mom about Nahla’s comment, each evening when we’re done our chat, Mom
says something like “I hope it’s okay to tuck you in this early.”
An amazing
thing to me is how much this small ritual with my elderly mother has blessed my
life. After all, how many seventy-year-old men still get ‘tucked in’ by their
mom each night? How many seventy-year-old men even still have their mom?
It has been
said that a person’s blessings are where they find them. Be on the lookout for
yours, or you might miss some of them. I
would add that you don’t always find your blessings, some blessings find you. Our
new, handsome, smiley four-month-old grandson is a splendid example. Wow! Talk
about getting wrapped around a tiny little finger in a hurry!
Still, one
of my greatest and earliest blessings ‘found’ me over 70 years ago. She brought
me into this world, she raised me, she took me to church since before I was
born, (literally), and she still tucks me in at night. How cool is that?
Thank you,
Mom, and happy one hundred and first birthday.
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