Ninety and Counting

“You better be having a party for me!” Mother told me leading up to Christmas.  Her 90th birthday was fast approaching.  “No one in my family has ever made it this far.”

So, we planned a party.  My daughters jumped on board, rented a room, arranged caterers and we called the invited guests.  The party was to be held just one week after New Year’s.

In the days leading up to the celebration eleven residents on Mom’s floor of the nursing home fell ill with the flu.  Her ward was quarantined.

“They’re going to sneak me out,” she promised.  “I’m not missing this one.”

We all held our breath.  Mom had been hospitalized with pneumonia not too long ago, so the concern was valid.

Should have known that of all people, my mom would never miss a party.  Dressed to the nines (in a dress she bought me for Christmas, but borrowed for the occasion) Mom arrived, outlasting all her guests.

“How are you today, Mom?”  I asked her the next morning.

“I feel younger than ever!” she reported.  “Having all those people around me was just the ticket.  I am a social butterfly, you know.”

We did know.

“And when I’m gone, my newest great-granddaughter is taking over for me, I’ve decided.”

Here they are, the two party girls:  One 90, one 7 months.


May the legacy continue!




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Permission to write, paint, and imagine are the gifts I gave myself when chronic illness hit - a fair exchange: being for doing. Relevance is an attitude. Humour essential.

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