83 Years Sweet

My Mom was 48 in 1975. One night in April she went to sleep a married mother of 4 and the next morning she woke up a widow with three kids under 18 and younger at home. Thirty three years ago you didn't go through the pain of loss of a loved one, you ran from it. Death and pregnancy were whispered subjects--neither happened yet one person would be gone and another grew in secrecy. Maybe that's not accurate, but that's the way I saw it.

She was an energetic 48 year old. The athlete in our family--before me. Mom was the classic 1950'-1970's American Mom. Home running the house. Raising kids in a neighborhood of Moms and kids. Shooing kids out in the morning and rounding them up when the street lights came on. In between there were meals from scratch on the table and on time. She's a great cook. Always has been.

A small tin can on the window sill in the kitchen held loose change. Mainly pennies and nickles, possibly a dime, never a quarter. From that can Mom would pass out a few coins for us. We could walk to the corner store--Franky's for a bag of candy. The real name was Westside Grocery. Franky was the owner--grouchy man who would rather make a kid wet his pants in fear than take a nickle for candy. His wife--Mrs. Franky, was everyone's grandma. Kind and patient. God help you if Mrs. Franky wasn't working. Getting that candy out from behind the glass and into the brown paper bag required collective courage. Better to wait outside for friends than to go it alone with Franky. I know I tried it once. I put a penny in the gumball machine with Franky watching me. I turned the crank and waited for the gumball to drop. Nothing happened. I opened the metal door. No gumball. "Ya stupid kid--you can see the dang things empty! I left Franky a puddle and ran the two blocks home.

My mom is still running the same house. Two little boys and a young lady of 11 get the full dose of sweetness. They are lucky ones. The tradition of Grandmothering runs deep and long in my Mom. It's an art she has perfected.

I was home for Thanksgiving. Grandma Lucy's home is sweet. Peaceful and comfortable. I slept in my old room. Very small, but cozy and warm. Breakfast is always relaxing at Mom's. She cooks and serves. Nice to be treated like family. This morning we talked about feelings and memories. Good feelings.

Next month Grandma Lucy, my Mom, turns 83. Driving home it occured to me that 83 years old is not accurate for her. Mom is energetic and sharp. To say 83 years young is not true. When you have earned your wisdom, to say "young" is to be in denial. I spoke to a friend about my Mom and it occured to me that there is an accurate descriptor --(is it verb, or adjective?)my Mom will be 83 years sweet on December 17th. Those years which included the loss of a young husband, and two young grandsons could make a person bitter, but because she's done the work in the time, she is sweet. Somewhere along the way Mom went through the pain.

I'm grateful for my Mom. Happy Birthday. All your boys love you.