In a family with seven children, the only day specifically for us was our birthday. Mom cooked our favorite dinner and cake. Gifts weren’t extravagant, but she always bought us something she knew we’d like.
Today, Sept. 26, is our mom’s 92nd birthday, and it’s a day to celebrate her.
She claims she never thought she’d live this long, and she constantly questions why she’s here. I could name all the things we say to people when they utter those statements – “God has a plan” or “Don’t say things like that.”
You still have a lot to teach us, Mom, but here’s a few of the life lessons you’ve taught us so far:
Faith. You have a deep faith in your religion, and you live that faith. It wasn’t easy to get seven children to Mass every Sunday, but you did. We received all the sacraments and knew all the prayers out of the Baltimore Catechist.
In May, we picked flowers for an altar to honor the Blessed Virgin because you have a special relationship with the Blessed Mother. We know you always hoped one of your sons would become a priest, but you’re thankful they’re all good, decent, honorable men.
Perseverance. Over the years, life has thrown you a series of tragedies. Your younger brother passed away unexpectedly on your birthday. Your mother never celebrated your birthday after that, and it was difficult for everyone. We didn’t know if we should be happy or sad.
But you taught us that life goes on. We grieve, we mourn, but then we remember that others are still here and deserve our attention. It must’ve been hard every year on your birthday, but you made sure we understood that life is to be celebrated.
Humor. You have a great sense of humor, and the person you laugh at the most is yourself. When my sister retired a few weeks ago, she told Mom she’d be coming to see her more often. Mom’s reply was “Is that a threat?”
She’s notorious for being a food pusher, and she hounded my brother one day about eating. As he was leaving, she held up a bag and said, “We have pears!” We all ribbed her about trying to force feed Jimmy.
That year for Christmas, we all got a small plate with a pear painted on it. She said the plate would ensure we always had pears at our house. She might laugh at jokes, but she mostly laughs at herself.
Determination. When Mom graduated from high school, she desperately wanted to go to college. My grandparents told her that was ridiculous – her job was to marry a Lebanese boy and have lots of Lebanese babies.
She told my grandfather one of her female cousins was going off to business school.
“I guess we’re not as good as them,” she told him, and he instantly bristled. The result was Mom got to go to business school, a career that served her well all her life.
She worked outside the home when we were growing up, but I don’t remember that she was gone. I remember her cooking dinner for us every single night. We always had clean clothes, food, encouragement and support no matter what we wanted to do.
Traditions. Every single Sunday after Mass, we had roast, rice, gravy, salad, corn and rolls for dinner. Attendance was a requirement, not a request. On Christmas Eve, my dad would read the story of the Nativity, and then we’d take turns opening gifts.
After Dad passed, my brother took on the role of reading the story. Mom made sure that 65-year tradition still holds.
Wisdom. Mom would brush off this compliment, saying she’s simply doing the best she can. But whenever I need a kick in the pants, she gives it to me. When I need to cry it out, she lets me sob and then tells me to wash my face. Her words and actions have guided me my whole life, and she’s never steered me wrong.
She doesn’t play favorites, but we all think we’re her favorite. Her grandchildren and great-grandchildren think she hangs the moon, and they’re right.
Delores Hebert is my role model, the person I admire most in the world and my best friend. We are so fortunate Mom’s still with us, and none of us take that blessing for granted. Some mothers are toxic, and some are absentee parents.
We know we hit the jackpot when we got Delores for our mom, our children’s Siti and our grandchildren’s Sit-Siti.
We’re going to celebrate you today, Mom and every day we’re lucky enough to have you here with us.
This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.