To my mom, on her 80th birthday
We’re celebrating my mother’s eightieth birthday today. What a blessing! I planned to be home in Lake Forest with her to witness this milestone. I wanted to hold her hand, look her in the eye and tell what an amazing mother and role model she has been to me.
Months ago I asked her what she’d like to do for her birthday. She asked if she could have a party for herself with just with her ladies. My mom loves her friends. She’s the most social person I know.
“Of course, Mom. You can have a party.” I loved the idea. She enjoys hosting and I wasn’t surprised that she wanted her friends to come over to her back garden on her birthday. She’d be like a queen, holding court.
Last month we spent a few days together. We were making the invitation for her July 18th party and I asked her, “What time are you thinking Mom?” In my mind I thought maybe 3pm-6pm. Or maybe 11am-2pm? She surprised me when she answered “10am-5pm.”
I laughed. “Really Mom? All day? I don’t know….that’s a lot. ” She responded with the conviction that one has earned at seventy-nine years old. “Yes Seera.” (Sara sounds like “Seera” because of her midwest accent). “I want my ladies to come when it works for them. We’ll serve coffee, champagne and cake all day.” I laughed. “OK Mom. 10-5 it is. It’s your birthday.”
She is a woman who knows what she likes.
Last week, my mom called with a scratchy throat. “Seera, honey, I have COVID. I can’t have the party on the 18th. Please tell the ladies the party will NOT be cancelled. It is POSTPONED.” Oh shoot. I postponed the party to August 1st. While she was disappointed, she’s always looking on the bright side. She said, “At least I am not going to Paris this week.”
My mom is incredible. She wakes up everyday with the hope for a beautiful day. She writes emails that usually begin, “The sky is blue. The birds are chirping….”
She’s an optimist. She is compassionate, kind and generous. She’s devout - to her family, friends, and her Catholic church. She’s belonged to clubs for over forty years, including one called the “first Thursday of the month” club. She enjoys nothing more than walking life with someone. Over these decades of friendships, they go through marriages, divorces, births and deaths. She is right there for every step.
My mother is an organizer. She organizes family reunions, high school reunions, and never misses a birthday. I inherited that talent from her. My friends call me “The Tower.”
My mom shows up - even when times are hard. Especially when times are hard. She is constantly making banana bread or lasagna to drop off to a friend or neighbor. When someone needs a prayer, they call her. She goes to church every morning when she is home. It’s her meditation. In the silence of her beautiful church of St Mary’s, she feels closest to God.
If there is a Heaven’s Gate and I run into any issues, I’m going to say that I am Mary Ann Fuller’s daughter. I imagine I will be let right in.
My love of travel comes from my mom. She started traveling the world before there were international flights. Her first trip to Europe began on a bus from Chicago to New York, followed by transatlantic boat ride to Denmark in 1962. It was her junior year in college and as she says “the beginning of her new life.” She spent a month with a Danish family, a month with a Dutch family and a year in Rome. She studied during the week and traveled Europe on the weekends.
A few years later, after graduating from St. Mary’s of Notre Dame, she taught for a year in Tokyo. Curiosity combined with her love of culture and history, she’s explored the world. She doesn’t say “someday, I’d like to go here.” No, not my mom. She plans and executes. She reads travel books, talks to friends about where they’ve been and saves newspaper articles. She’s visited all fifty states, seven continents and probably most of the natural wonders of the world.
My mom loves taking pictures. She’s photographed pretty much everything and everyone I know. She often sends a copy to the person in the photo and writes them a little note always signing it the same way: “Love, Love MA.”
Like many daughters, we don’t know how hard our mothers worked until we too are mothers. The first Thanksgiving dinner I cooked for my family took me two days. I was stunned by the effort, cost and number of ingredients required to host a traditional dinner. After the last dish was washed, dried and put away, I called my mom exhausted. I said, “Mom. I had no idea what a Thanksgiving meal entailed. I don’t even think I ever once said thank you!”
Here I am on your 80th birthday. Thank you Mom.
Thank you for your boundless love.
Thank you for modeling compassion.
Thank you for teaching me to say yes.
Thank you for sitting with me when I hurt.
Thank you for rejoicing in my happiness.
Thank you for being my mother.
Happy Birthday. I love you.
XO
Sara B.