Mother and sons. I know of no more formidable force in the world. I’m a mother to two sons. Two men, who are such different people. Yet they both came from me, and I love them both equally. Well, I think I do. My older son, the first born, was the child I had at 19 years of age All I ever wanted to do was be a Mom, and he made me a Mom. We grew up together. And I couldn’t have had better company.
Frankie is a good man, as Nicholas is. Nick is in Kansas City, and married to Aaron. Nicholas, far right, is also a good man. Handsome man. Kind man. I’m proud my boys grew up the way they have. And, my daughter, Rebecca, was teased unmercifully and loved so much by her brothers. We were quite a family, the four of us.
I wish this weren’t the last time we were all together, but it is. The Thanksgiving of 2009, when I was diagnosed and after my lumpectomy, October 2009. The time has gone too quickly since then.
Today was St. Patrick’s Day; it was a day for celebrations for those who considered themselves Irish. I’ve never quite understood those traditions of going out drinking all day. I don’t care for those types of recollections of the Irish. I don’t care for any tales of drunken escapades; my mixed Irish, German, English, and whatever heritage has to offer. Preferring another escapade, all I can do is implore anything but drunken escapade!
Kind of a cool thing is to watch these old Seinfeld episodes and it is sort of interesting all the drama that takes place in each episode. And to think, these were ground breaking episodes, and we didn’t think life could improve on them. But it has. And so it goes. Life always improves on itself. I think it is a great thing, and so it goes. Life is always improving upon itself. Yay!
I know it’s a short night, but it’s nearly midnight March 17, 2021, and time to say good night. Take care. We’ll see each other tomorrow. Be Safe. Be Courteous. Be Thoughtful. Be Kind. Thanks for reading, see you tomorrow!