Happy 97th Birthday, Mom

Today, Mom, you would have turned 97. I can hardly wrap my heart around that number. Ninety-seven years — almost a century of love, lessons, laughter, and living that you carried through this world. Though you now reside in heaven, your presence is still everywhere I turn.

When I close my eyes, I can see you — not only in the graceful strength of your younger years, but in the wisdom and warmth that only time could give. I hear your voice in my own when I comfort someone I love. I see your hands in mine when I fold laundry or stir a pot on the stove. I feel your faith echoing in me when the days are heavy and I wonder how to keep going.

Birthdays are supposed to be for cake and candles, but today mine is more a quiet prayer. A thank you. A longing. A whisper into the heavens that says, “I remember. I love you. I carry you with me.”

I imagine heaven today is filled with celebration — not the kind we have here with balloons and frosting, but a deeper joy. The kind that comes from a life well-lived, from love sown generously, from faith kept steady. Perhaps you are dancing again, free of the limits of age and time. Perhaps you are laughing with those who went before you, the family and friends who now share eternity by your side.

Here on earth, though, your absence is still felt. Not as an emptiness, but as a tenderness — a space shaped by love that nothing else can quite fill. You taught me so much, Mom. About kindness. About perseverance. About the quiet strength it takes to put one foot in front of the other, no matter what life brings. Those lessons didn’t leave with you. They live on in me.

Today, on your 97th birthday, I celebrate you. I celebrate the mother who raised me, the woman whose faith anchored me, the soul whose love continues to guide me. I celebrate the way you still reach me, even from heaven — through memories, through dreams, through the subtle ways I know you’re still near.

So, happy birthday, Mom. If love could build a ladder, I’d climb it straight to you with flowers in hand and stories to tell. Until then, I’ll carry you in my heart, today and every day.