Today would have been my mother’s 100th birthday. Sadly, she missed that milestone by passing at only 79 years of age. An age–by the way–that seems entirely too young now that I’m nearly 75 myself. This picture of us at Donegal Castle was taken just weeks before she died.
Mom has missed a lot in the last twenty years—seven great-grandchildren, chief among them. She would have been so proud. Almost as proud as she was when all five of her grandchildren graduated from college. “Five for five!” she’d exclaim with a wide grin. Not bad for my two working-class parents.
We think of her every day. And–lucky me–now that my hair is white, I get to see her whenever I look in the mirror or down at my hands. Thanks, Mom.
Twenty-five years ago, I read this poem at Mom’s birthday party, held at the clubhouse of Highland Palms, the 55+ mobile home community she and Dad called home. I hope it gives you a small taste of who she was.
Lorie Smith Schaefer 
I know exactly how you feel. My mother was 90 when she died; I was her sole caregiver for the last several years of her life.
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We planned that trip to Ireland for a year after Dad died. It was a great thing for us to focus on. She was a good sport and did everything she was advised to do to cope during that year. But she and Dad were one of those couples who were meant to be together. Joined at the hip. I know he was waiting to take her across. Probably with his hand out and the motor running.
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Beautiful tribute poem to your mother💜
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Thanks.
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