You were born in 1925. February 19, 1925 and you came into this world as the youngest of nine children. And now, it is 2015. It is nine decades later. It is ninety years later and you are still smiling and full of love.
You lived through the Great Depression, through World War II, Korea, the Cold War, Viet Nam, Iraq, Afghanistan. And still you smile and still you love.
You have outlived two husbands, one of your children, all of your brothers and sisters, your friends. Still you are grateful for what you have. Still you laugh. Still you love.
If you are ninety then I am no longer a child. You no longer tuck me in at night or hold me in your arms in a rocking chair while I sit on your lap. You no longer comfort me when I am sick or scold me when I do something wrong. But you still love me and you will always be my mother.
You taught me right from wrong. You gave me a moral compass. You passed on compassion, empathy, generosity, and a sense of justice. You gave me laughter and you gave me love. You filled my life with love.
At ninety you are still my mother. That will never go away. Everything else might fade, but the love of a mother for a child does not. It cannot. But I want you to know that it goes both ways. You still make me smile and I still love you for all that you have been and all that you are.
Happy Birthday, Mom. I love you more than you can know.