Happy Birthday, Mom...

Today, if my mom were with us, she would have turned ninety-one years old.

Ninety-one.

She was born on this date in 1931. She was born into a home without running water, without electricity. She grew up during the Great Depression and before that nightmare could come to an end, the world engaged in yet another global war.

She survived, married a WWII vet, adopted three children, lost her husband six years after adopting the last child, and raised her family alone.

She is, in a word, my hero.

Normally, on this day, I would take a carved pumpkin to the cemetery and place it on my parent's headstone. I won't make it today, but will tomorrow. We no longer live within walking distance. It's okay--I think she won't mind her birthday gesture being a day late.

I hope when my time comes I can look back at a legacy half as incredible as hers. I still miss her--a pain I pray never stops. Happy 91st, mom. Sorry the pumpkin's a little late.