A daughter of Polish immigrants. Youngest of nine. Seven brothers and one sister who was the oldest. As the youngest and oldest, they used to call my mom and her sister Celia “The bookends”. They nicely framed this working class “Silent Generation” Chicago family.

She lost her own mother, my grandma, in 1954 when she was just 21 years old. My mom met my dad soon after at a square dance and after a few months courtship, he proposed a Valentines Day. Her father lived long enough to at least see her marry my dad in 1955.

Mom had the quintessential 50s family life, two kids (I came along in the 60s to make it three), church activities, neighborhood coffee clutches, dogs, birds, houseplants and of course a big beautiful garden.

The mid-sixties brought new adventures and challenges. My dad built on to the house himself, doubling it in size and of course, I came along.

My family didn’t really have the money for vacations but somehow, mom and dad always found a way. Mom always knew how to stretch a dollar, whether it was with coupons or simply being thrifty. She instilled in all of us the value of re-use. We grew up going to garage sales and goodwills. We lacked for nothing. Mom always made it feel like we were lucky to have such abundance. What we were lucky for is having her.

In the 1970s, mom embraced life. She was part of the first wave of American yoga fanatics. She started playing volleyball, roller skating, weaving macrame plant hangers and even tried belly dancing. All the while square dancing with dad and raising a family.

She discovered line dancing in the 80s and that love affair lasted over 40 years.

Mom and dad were married for 43 years until my dad died in 98. Alone for the first time in her life, she persevered. She worked in various secretarial jobs until finally retiring. One by one her brothers passed as well as her beloved sister. She was the last one in her direct family and soon became the doyenne, or oldest female member, of most family gatherings. 

Mom left us in stages. Not all at once, just little bits at a time. It seems she always wanted to be ready for “what is coming up”.

She would come visit me California. Get all her stuff set up at my house and after the first day, begin doing laundry in preparation for the trip back. 

I’d tell her, “Mom, you’re going to be here for a week.” She’d tell me, “Oh, I just want to be ready when it’s time to go.”

You can’t really summarize a life of 92 years. Certainly not in just a few minutes. But I think mom did okay. It was a good life full of joy and love. When the time came, I think she was as always, ready.