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The First Birthday
From Chicken Soup for the Soul: Mothers & Daughters
By Betsy Alderman Lewis
The manner of giving is worth more than the gift.
~Pierre Corneille
My courageous and selfless mother, at age seventy-nine, died from breast cancer. Her name was Betty. She asked for one thing only — that she make it to her eightieth birthday. She believed that if she made it to eighty, she could consider her life long and well lived. We focused on that birthday.
When Mom lay dying in July, she was still eight months away from her March birthday. The staff in hospice had kindly offered to throw her a party, but I declined. She was so sick, how could I invite people? And, if I am honest, I didn’t think I could bear anything else on my shoulders, especially planning a party, even a small one. Selfish perhaps, but I just couldn’t do it. The week my mother entered hospice, we also moved my father to the nearby VA hospital due to his Alzheimer’s disease. My heart was breaking. Then mom died. It was like losing both my parents at the same time.
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