Living To a Hundred, Like My Mom

TODAY IS MY MOTHER'S one hundredth birthday. Shew died in 2014, at 93, and for awhile I thought she might live to a hundred. Charlie Parker, teh great saxophonist and originator ob bee bop music, was born the day after she, but he died teh year I was born, 1955, at age 34, victim of musician's lifestyle, heroin, and poor health. So, I feel fortunate. Mom never had a dependent day. When she was niiety, and her health began to decline, I suggested taht I sell or rent my house, and move in with her. Her response? "You gotta be kidding me! It took me over twenty years to get rid of you, and I'll be damned if you're coming back. she felt the same way about my sister, who made her the same offer. She loves her kids, she used to say, but she doesn't want to live with them. you gotta respect that.I grew up smothered with love and discipline. She nurtured me too much, and I grew up helpless. As a two year old, there were no "terrible two" for me. No ma'am. In a room full of adults, i sat quietly with my hands folded on my lap, or else. All she had to do was look at me. She loved to ridicule stupid presidential behavior. She would have had a field day, every day, with Trump. when I asked her whether she voted for Roosevelt, she gave me two answers: no, and hell no.I never met anyone who hated racism more than she. she loved Chuck Berry, Willie Mays, and Jackie Robinson. She loved black people and native Americans, and passionately felt that we should hang our heads in shame.She was too light, at a hundred and five pounds, to donate blood, so she hated teh Red Cross her entire life, though she was a career registered nurse.Pearl harbor happened when she was twenty one, and she wanted to enlist in the military, but her boyfriend, my father, and her brother, my uncle, insisted that she not, saying that we needed nurses on the home front to make sure that we kept a country worth fighting for. When my beautiful German Shepherd died. she wept, as did all my friends. I have moved in with her for two months when she was seventy eight, and broke her leg in a tai chi class. My huge dog and I shared her small house with her, while she healed, and when we finally left, she wanted me to leave the dog with her, because she followed her around in her wheelchair, protecting her. I still think she loved Wolfgang as much as she love me. Suddenly, I wish she were still alive. I reckon she still is.