It's almost her birthday

and in another 50 minutes, the seventh daughter will be 70 years old.

There was a time when I didn't think my mother would make it past age 54.  She had her first cardiac event then - underwent quad bypass surgery, and over the last few years, has surprised us all by surviving several more.

Her name is Jan, and half the time, that's what I call her.  Not sure how that started, but being a southern woman of the generation in which you revered your parents (or were scared hairless of them), I'm lucky she doesn't smack me a good one for calling her by her first name.  I think I do it because I see her not only as my mother, but as and individual in her own right - and a friend.

She was my father's right hand in business.  I take that back - she was BOTH hands.  Without her, the business would never have survived, and she knows it.  She was sharp at a razor back then, and no slouch now.

I remember her belting out Hank Williams Long Gone Lonesome Blues, or singing The Old Rugged Cross.  She gave us music when we were small.  She wrote poetry on the occasions when she was moved to do so, and sometimes, in scrap books, I run across hand scribbled verse. 

She was seldom harsh.  One look from those soulful brown eyes told you that you had disappointed her, and that was enough to make a kid (or adult) take a deep breath and cry like she or he had been whipped.

Her life hasn't been an easy one by a long shot, and that would make some people bitter, but the years have made Mama sweeter and stronger than I'll ever be.

Tomorrow, August 28, we'll celebrate that she was with us for another year of life, and we will hope against hope we're granted another.

Happy birthday, Jan. 

I'll bring you flowers
sprung from seeds
you've sown along
your path.
I'll lay them
at your feet
and, kneeling there,
gaze into the face
of grace and strength
I hope I've learned.
I'll pluck the petals,
scatter them along
this shorter trail.
I'll be your strength
when, breathless,
you must stop
for rest along our way.
I'll take your hand,
and comfort you.
Together,
we shall sow
more seeds,
and when our paths
diverge,
I'll gather our flowers
sown with love,
and remember.