I am only 54 years old.
When I try to invision living to speak the words, "I am 90," I can't fathom it.
I have been thinking about it alot the past few weeks.
It's been seriously on my mind
as I have been preparing for a very special day!
Today my mom reaches a mile stone in her life.
Today my mother is turning 90
I'm afraid
Youth is a thing of the past,
but
Youthful or not . . .
my mother is beautiful!
Every ounce of her!
When I think of all the things she's done in her life.
I always come back to her work ethic.
When I list all of the beautiful traits my mother has been blessed with,
First and foremost, I always have to speak about her work ethic.
She was a hard worker!
On June 12th, 2011, the Sunday paper announced her big day.
It read . . .
"Pearl Berrett Blanch will celebrate her 90th birthday on June 17. A family dinner will be held in her honor at her home.
Born June 17, 1921, in North Ogden, Utah, to M.H. Berrett and Stella Pearl Barker, she was number five of ten children. She graduated from Weber High School in 1940. After dating each other in high school, she married Keith P Blanch on October 21, 1942 in the Salt Lake Temple. They lived in Plain City and were blessed with four girls who milked cows and worked on the family farm. Keith died July 11, 2004. Pearl continues to live in her home.
Pearl has been a hard worker her whole life. When it came to the farm she could out work any man. Besides farming, she worked at North Ogden Cannery, and later at Smith & Edwards in the boot department where she enjoyed selling boots and spending time with many friends and co-workers. In addition to those jobs, she was active in the LDS Church and taught Sunday School for twenty five years. She also cooked, canned, sewed, gardened, and cleaned. She loved a clean farm and a clean home. She continues to say however, that her greatest work, and her number one interest in this life will forever be her family. She tells her daughters daily, that's the only thing that matters in this life."
I was taken back when the paper called me and said I had to take out the line about my mother being able to out work any man.
"There can be no subjective writing," the unfamiliar voice said. "
"Subjective writing?" "Are you serious?" I retorted.
She went on to tell me how whether or not my mother could outwork any man was purely subjective. I went on to ask her, "So you think someone is going to call up the paper and dispute whether or not my mother can out work any man?" It was a funny conversation. In the end I determined I never want to work for the paper.
Just before I hung up the phone, I ended all verbal communication by telling the voice without a face to take a challange. I told her to gather up all the men in her building and bring them over. I think I said something like, "My mother can personally show you." She said she believed me!
Today my heart is full! I have been so emotional. I can't ponder over my mom turning 90 without extreme water cascading down my face. It drops like Niagra falls.
I go over to her house daily. When I open up the white picket gate, all the elements call to me. The tree with the giant heart carved deep in it's bark, hovering over things like a mother hen. Every leaf that shutters in the breeze sends a message. Everything from the birds that chirp and tweet to the color of the sky no matter the hue. All of it calls to me. It whispers, "Her days are numbered."
I walk inside her home and there she sits in her chair. She is the incredible shrinking woman. Everyday I have to look harder to see her sitting there. Her frail spindly frame, waiting patiently for someone to come, someone to break the silence, someone to lift the lonliness that sifts and weaves through every particle of dust.
I have determined that every stage of life comes with it's heaviness. I do not want to grow old.
The conversations with my mother are like the movie "Ground Hog Day," always repetitive. The same questions over and over again, one minute after another. But now more than ever I can't do the smallest thing for her what words of gratitude don't step out on stage jeweled and beaded in an aray of sparkling beauty that makes one of the grandest entrances I've ever seen! Gratitude permiates her. Sentences like, "What would I ever do without you." and "Thank you, thank you so much." They flow one right after the other, always followed by a series of, "I love you's."
It is a priviledge and an honor to care for my mother. A hardship? Yes, you could say it packs it's weight on certain days, but in the end, when night falls and she is safely tucked in bed, when I close the gate as I wander aimlessly out of her yard ---caught between heaven and hell, that is the moment I realize ---caring for the woman who gave me life is a privledge and the greatest honor I will ever be given. It is one of the richest blessings in my life. A blessing that tops all blessings.
So today, with my heart full and brimming over, I hope my wonderful mother has a Happy Happy Birthday. A day she surely deserves. One that is exceptional in every way just like she is! And while I'd like to sit here and write a book. I leave with three thoughts.
1-I love you mom.
2-You mean the world to me!
And
3-To me, you will forever be a guiding star!
Today my heart is full! I have been so emotional. I can't ponder over my mom turning 90 without extreme water cascading down my face. It drops like Niagra falls.
I go over to her house daily. When I open up the white picket gate, all the elements call to me. The tree with the giant heart carved deep in it's bark, hovering over things like a mother hen. Every leaf that shutters in the breeze sends a message. Everything from the birds that chirp and tweet to the color of the sky no matter the hue. All of it calls to me. It whispers, "Her days are numbered."
I walk inside her home and there she sits in her chair. She is the incredible shrinking woman. Everyday I have to look harder to see her sitting there. Her frail spindly frame, waiting patiently for someone to come, someone to break the silence, someone to lift the lonliness that sifts and weaves through every particle of dust.
I have determined that every stage of life comes with it's heaviness. I do not want to grow old.
The conversations with my mother are like the movie "Ground Hog Day," always repetitive. The same questions over and over again, one minute after another. But now more than ever I can't do the smallest thing for her what words of gratitude don't step out on stage jeweled and beaded in an aray of sparkling beauty that makes one of the grandest entrances I've ever seen! Gratitude permiates her. Sentences like, "What would I ever do without you." and "Thank you, thank you so much." They flow one right after the other, always followed by a series of, "I love you's."
It is a priviledge and an honor to care for my mother. A hardship? Yes, you could say it packs it's weight on certain days, but in the end, when night falls and she is safely tucked in bed, when I close the gate as I wander aimlessly out of her yard ---caught between heaven and hell, that is the moment I realize ---caring for the woman who gave me life is a privledge and the greatest honor I will ever be given. It is one of the richest blessings in my life. A blessing that tops all blessings.
So today, with my heart full and brimming over, I hope my wonderful mother has a Happy Happy Birthday. A day she surely deserves. One that is exceptional in every way just like she is! And while I'd like to sit here and write a book. I leave with three thoughts.
1-I love you mom.
2-You mean the world to me!
And
3-To me, you will forever be a guiding star!
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