Mom.

Yesterday was the anniversary of my mom's birthday. I keep forgeting dates, so I'm not even sure now how old she would be if she were still alive, in her 80's somewhere. Actually I can't even remember what year she died either (not that I particularly wanted to remember that part of my life forever).

Mom was a great lady. I'm sure my siblings had different experiences of her, time and age will do that, but to me she was the model of a working woman. A do it all kind of lady with job and family and moxie.

I was the last of 6 children born over a 21 year stretch. She was 43 when I was born. I am fond of saying that I was raised by old people, but it's usually to explain my calmer, nobler or more old fashioned habits.

Mom had been a stay home mom and house frau for the other kids but when I was 4 or 5 she went to work. Small stuff part-time at first then later full time. She started as a cafeteria lady, ended up a bookkeeper. She was once fired for insubordination simply because my mom didn't suffer fools.

She was strong, but as I got older she didn't mind showing her weaknesses. It made it easier to understand her. She and dad were children of the depression. It was a part of who they were, but they weren't stuck there. One of the things I loved best about both of them was their ability to see change and flow with it. They were occasionally nostalgic, but they understood the good in so much that had come along.

She called me her baby and I called her mommy until the day she died. It was, I think, sort of an in-joke toward the end. I always looked for cards that a little kid would give, some thing simple and always to "mommy".

I miss her bunches, although I don't think about her everyday. Ten years or so has dulled that ache. Still now and again I miss her fiercely. It's a terrible thing to know I'll never again have my mommy.