Dad, Mom and Baby

If she were alive, my mom would have turned 62 years old this week. No matter how hard I try I can’t picture her looking older, and not just because it’s been 10 years since I’ve seen her.

Even on her 52nd birthday she hardly had a wrinkle on her face, nor did I ever see her with a single gray hair. She spent hours in the gym each week, had legs most 30-year olds would kill for, and felt perfectly at home in spandex and bikinis––the smaller the better. She loved organic vegetables, avoided the drive-thru and always took her multivitamins. Although my mom and I really didn’t have much in common, I definitely got my penchant for health from her.

My mom lived like she was in this for the long haul, and in that way she was the complete opposite of my dad. When they were young my dad lived his life like the future would never come. He took big risks, had a fabulous time, and threw caution to the wind with things like health and money. As he has reflected back over the past several years the most common thing I’ve heard him utter is, “I never thought I’d live this long.” (I know, straight out of The Simpsons).

The irony, of course, is that he did. And she didn’t.

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