96 and Counting

November 22, 2018

Three years ago, when my mother was 93, her physician told her she had congestive heart failure and a leaky valve. The former was basically untreatable, but if she would consent to surgery he could replace the valve. “So, what difference would that make?” she asked. 

“Without surgery, you probably have a year to live. With it, I could pretty well guarantee you another five or six years,” he replied. 

“I can’t see to read, I can barely hear, I can’t taste my food, and I can barely get around. Why would I want five or six years of that?” she retorted. 

Three years later, she is still with us. She is failing; she gets around even less and is noticeably more frail, but her mind is good and she still keeps house, cooks for herself and manages quite well. I try to see her every couple weeks, and we’ve spent the last five Thanksgivings with her, thinking every year that this could be her last. Today she was surrounded by all three of her children, all but three of her grandchildren, and I won’t even try to count the great-grandchildren. All told, her home was host to about thirty of us. She sat in her chair surveying the chaos with great pleasure. My brother and sister in law did the bulk of the cooking, while the rest of us contributed various dishes to round out the meal. 

I am thankful tonight for another year and another Thanksgiving with my mother. I don’t take them for granted. This actually could be her last, but if it’s not, we will celebrate once more the marvelous gift God has given us in her. Together with my father, her character, faith, and love have been a solid foundation upon which my brother, sister, and myself have built our lives. The blessing has as the Scripture says, passed to the third and fourth generation. Thanks be to God!