The Matriarch

Yesterday was Thanksgiving, and we all decamped to Boynton Beach for a fine feast prepared by my sister. My brother in law spoke briefly, and was beautifully overcome with emotion as he shared his gratitude for his grandchildren, children, wife, and my family. He also recognized my mother, the matriarch of our clan. She beamed.

She'll be 88 in April, and, as far back as I can remember (probably when she was 48 or so) she has treated every single day as a precious gift. She lives very simply, probably on less than $15,000 per year, and feels like she's extremely rich. She envies NO ONE, and NOTHING. I think that's a key to her long and happy life --eliminating all the negative feelings that accompany the "I coulda been a contenda" mantra of life's losers.

At this point in her life, Mom simpy doesn't want to hear the negative. She's cut off contact from people who tell her sad tales. She doesn't watch the news or get a newspaper, because she doesn't want to hear the mostly negative stories.

Sometimes we, her children, feel a bit cheated that we can't share our trials with her. But, the truth is, at almost 88 there's nothing practical she can do when there's a difficult issue, so we act wisely and insulate her. She's taught us well --we now know that telling her negative tales simply lets US vent, upsets her, and changes nothing. It's no longer her job to dispense advice or support. We're thrilled to simply have her with us.

She still makes us laugh. One of her great granddaughters gave her a running hug yesterday, and nearly knocked her down. As we all replayed various permutations of the "flying grandma," she laughed along with us. Later, one of her great grandDOGS jumped up and licked her face. She told me it was the "most action" she's had in years.

She volunteers at a local hospital each week, feeding sick patients and transporting them around. The hospital staff loves her there. One of my closest friends is now a big shot doctor at the hospital. He always goes out of his way to greet her, and give her a big play, as they say in Vegas. She loves that.

So, as I gather and consider my blessings, this one's for Sunny, she of the most appropriate nickname around.

Years ago, I asked my father's advice about chosing a wife. Did he care about her religion, or background. "Dave, it's simple. MArry someone who is PLEASANT." He did that, in 1942, and she remains so 65 years later.

We all love you, Mom.