My Mom called me on the evening of my birthday a few days ago, around 8 o’clock. It was near the time I was born, she said, in a farmhouse in rural North Carolina. Then, for the first time in many years, she started telling me the story of how I was born. Of course, I’ve heard it before but it was a wonderful gift to hear my 80-year-old mother tell it again.

That evening, my father’s mother had arranged for a midwife to go to the house. My parents, in their early twenties, were taking a risk not going to the hospital because my mother had health challenges with her first child, who died during childbirth. But they couldn’t afford it. So, my Mom relied on the skill of a woman that she didn’t know. Thankfully, there were no problems.

You’re my oldest child, my mother told me, and I am grateful to be alive to wish you happy birthday. I am grateful, too.

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Eating  Thin Mints, Trefoils, Tagalongs and the other five types of cookies during the beginning of the year is almost as important in our national psyche as celebrating Thanksgiving and Valentine’s Day. Scouts started taking orders a few weeks ago for this mega fundraising effort.

Years ago, I was reluctant to ask co-workers and others if they wanted to buy cookies but I soon got the fever. I also go with my daughter when she sells cookies with other scouts outside grocery stores and other retail establishments. I follow along in the car when she’s walking through the neighborhood knocking on doors in search of customers.  I offer guidance in keeping up with the money.

Both my 16-year-old daughter and I favor the Thin Mints and the peanut butter and chocolaty Tagalongs. I’ll buy the usual eight boxes, two boxes of each for both of us. My daughter will quickly consume hers but this year, I’m putting mine in the freezer.  I’m trying to melt my middle.

We Girl Scout moms know that helping sell these once-a-year treats is special  bonding time with our daughters.

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But let me tell you first about the one that won’t happen. My mother asked us not to put together a big birthday dinner party. My three sisters and I debated whether to do it anyway, but we agreed to honor her request for a smaller gathering. Then, I had an idea: Why not surprise our mother by arranging a reunion with her three siblings. They last came together 16 years ago at their brother’s funeral.

One sister lives minutes from my mother’s house and a brother is in a small town a little over an hour away so they see each other regularly. The third sister lives in Florida. That aunt said she would try to make it but I got a call a few days ago that her husband is recuperating from surgery so she can’t come. Hopefully, they’ll all get to see other soon.

Meanwhile, my sisters and I are going to take my mother to a Japanese restaurant for a birthday lunch. She enjoys the flamboyance of Japanese Hibachi grill cooking as well as the food. Afterward, all her grandchildren, her brother and sister will stop by her house for cake and ice cream. It will be a nice, intimate affair.

The birthday cake will be in the shape of her favorite hat.

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We were exploring other possibilities, too, when Mom learned that we were planning a celebration in her honor. No way, she said.

Our mother doesn’t like for us to make a fuss over her. Of  course, we enjoy doing something special for her on significant occasions and over the years have sometimes rejected her protests. Our father, who passed away 25 years ago,  was more easygoing about such matters. He accepted and enjoyed the attention, though he, like our mother, also preferred not to be in the spotlight.

But celebrations are powerful experiences, a time to recognize some aspect of life’s journey. I can still recall the 25th anniversary party my sisters and I gave our parents on a warm day in June. It was 1976 and we enlisted the aid of an aunt and uncle to get them out of the house on that Saturday so that we could prepare for a backyard cookout. We asked family and friends to park on nearby streets so that our parents wouldn’t notice any cars when they came home. My mother and father were delighted when they walked into a crowd yelling “surprise!” I saw a tear roll down my father’s cheek. That memory is etched in my heart; it was the first time I saw my father cry.

Fast forward to 1990. My father had been dead for five years and my mother was turning 60. We gave her a surprise party. It was a joy to watch her blow out birthday candles surrounded by all of her grandchildren. She even took to the dance floor and did a little two-stepping when we played a few of her favorite Sam Cooke tunes.

So, what should we do about her 80th birthday, which arrives in November the weekend before Thanksgiving? Over the past two decades, we’ve gathered for small, intimate family dinners and invited my mother’s siblings, in-laws, nieces and nephews over for ice cream and cake when she turned 75. Is it unfair for my sisters and I to have another party for our mother when she says she doesn’t want us to do anything special?

Let me know what you think. I’ll keep you posted on what we decide to do.

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1. Celebrating my mother’s 80th birthday, Part 2
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Wow. My mother has not been in a grocery or clothing store in more than a year because it’s been difficult and painful for her to walk and stand. Even when we offered to pick up a few items for her, a pair of pants and a blouse, she declined. She never really talked about it but we figured it was hard for her to think about appearance when she was feeling so poorly and didn’t really go anywhere except doctor’s offices.

Since knee replacement surgery in March, she’s been stepping out. I was thrilled to take her shopping; she wanted to arrive just as the store opened so she could easily maneuver her walker, the kind with a built-in seat for rest breaks. My 15-year-old daughter went with us.

Mom found a couple pair of pants, two blouses and a nightgown. My daughter left us to look at the trendy clothes in the junior department. We were in and out of the store in a little over an hour.

“That must have felt good,” I said to my mother, “to be able to go shopping and find a couple outfits.” She turned to me as we were riding in the car and smiled. “It did,” she said. “It really did.”

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That afternoon, my nearly 80-year-old mother put on her trademark summer hat, climbed into my car and in a few minutes was sitting on my aunt’s screened-in patio. She was smiling, joking and clearly free of the emotional strain and pain that had her kept her virtually homebound for many months. My Mom’s world shrank but now it is growing again.

My mother has had difficulty walking and standing and intense pain drowned out a lot of her joy. She has lost some sight in one of her eyes and can no longer drive. Four months ago, she had knee replacement surgery on her left leg. “I’m going to do what it takes to make my knee better,” my mother told us as the recovery began. She has.

After a short stay in a rehabilitation center and weeks of physical therapy, she doesn’t miss a day doing at-home knee exercises. She walks most days –starting with only a few steps to the end of the driveway– through her neighborhood for at least 30 minutes, using a walker to prevent falls. When she’s inside, she walks without a cane or walker.  She is no longer experiencing excruciating pain.

My mother was able to go to a backyard cookout on July 4 at the home of one of my sisters. She will be returning to church some Sundays. She thinks she’ll have the stamina soon to travel a couple hours to visit my daughter and me.

My mother is healthier and happy. I am grateful for these blessings.

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For a few moments, I was a bit confused. The idea of being a senior is foreign to me. That’s not how I think of myself, and neither do any of my other 50-something Baby Boomer friends.  My voice almost cracked  when I responded, “Why are you asking?”

My daughter gave me the envelope she was holding and pointed to the return address, which included the words senior healthcare. The letter was addressed to me and came from my new physicians’ group here in North Carolina. I didn’t choose the doctors because I think of myself as a senior or because I have significant health problems. I figured it would be a good idea to have specialists who would already know my health history when I’m really old.  

Studies show that Baby Boomers, who range in age from 46 to 64, are fighting the description of people over 50 as seniors, unless, of course, it is used for those who are at least 80-years-old. A recent survey showed that Boomers feel much younger than their actual ages, and as age increases, the gap between their real age and perceived age expands. Turning 50, many say, is the new 40.

I looked at my daughter and could see the fear in eyes. For a 15-year-old, someone who is 30 is considered old, so a description of someone as a senior means ancient, near death. I reached over, gave her a hug, and told her, “No, I’m not a senior.”  

When life spans were shorter, turning 50 meant old age.  But at a time when older adults are still having kids, skydiving, running marathons and learning the latest dance steps, age is a state of mind.

If you’re over 50, how do you think of your age? Are you a senior or not?

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The other day my daughter and I took her to deal with a prescription for her eyeglasses and while we were out I suggested that the three of us go to dinner. My mother seemed a bit reluctant but agreed. She clutched her cane tightly each time we got out of the car and asked me to hold her hand so that she wouldn’t stumble and fall.  We ate shrimp and trout at her favorite seafood restaurant. It  was the first time she had been out of the house for a social activity in nearly four months.

My nearly 80-year-old Mom spends most days at home,  except for doctor’s appointments.  She even waits longer now to visit her hairdresser. She didn’t leave the house during the Christmas holidays and recently turned down an invitation to an anniversary celebration for some longtime friends. My mother’s health problems make it painful and difficult for her to do a lot of walking and she has lost some sight in one of her eyes.

My mother isn’t one to complain but I know that if I’m saddened by the increasing restrictions on her lifestyle, I know she is too. My mother can’t drive anymore.  She no longer walks several miles a day, mows her yard or prunes the shrubs.  She doesn’t  go to church (the pastor visits her at home). Intellectually, I understand that physical deterioration is a part of the aging process. But that doesn’t make accepting it any easier.

Still, my Mom is who she’s always been. She listens and doesn’t judge, and often has a house full of not only daughters but grandchildren, nieces and nephews who show up to talk and laugh. She makes a great sweet potato pie, though not as frequently. She can still take care of herself, with some help from others, and isn’t suffering any life-threatening problems. She likes to chat about the news events of the day. She gives great hugs.

When I start thinking too much about my Mom’s shrinking world, I make a mental list of everything that is still wonderful.  It’s still a long one. I am thankful.

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Christmas music was playing – tunes by Ray Charles, the Drifters, The Jackson Five and others. I put wreaths on the front door and on two of the outside windows. My mom unwrapped the smaller items—a couple bouquets of silk flower poinsettias, some trinkets from her grandchildren, a few Santas and other whatnots—and lovingly placed them around the living room and den. It was simple and festive. She left many of the decorations in the storage boxes. There was no Christmas tree. 

My nearly 80-year-old mother moved slowly and carefully. Because of surgery a little over two months ago, she’s able to walk now without a cane or other assistance. She was happy. 

Later in the day, I ran some errands for Mom, picking up some groceries and miscellaneous items. I also did some cleaning, with help from my soon-to-be 15-year-old daughter. 

It was a nice weekend. Now that I’ve moved back to North Carolina, I won’t miss any more Christmas decorating days.  

Soul Rhythms blogger Yvonne Shinhoster Lamb and I are trying to shrink our belly fat in a six-month Melt the Middle challenge. Be sure to join us.

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My Mom receives Medicare and any changes will affect the quality of her health care. Here’s the issue: the proposed bill would reduce Medicare costs over the next 10 years. Republicans argue it could be potentially harmful to seniors, resulting in $400 billion in cuts. AARP officials say they’ve studied the plan and feel it would ultimately improve the federal health care program for people 65 and older by restraining costs.

This is what AARP Vice President Nancy A. LeaMond said this week, according to news reports: “We can say with confidence that it meets our priorities for protecting Medicare, providing more affordable health insurance for 50-to-64-year-olds and reforming our health-care system.”

The debate over the largest expansion of health coverage since the 1965 creation of Medicare and Medicaid has been confusing and acrimonious, unleashing raw anger during community forums across the country. The House bill scheduled for a vote this weekend is nearly 2,000 pages. I’ll bet all the members of the House haven’t read every word of it.

I’ll watch this weekend as our elected officials take a vote on this historic reform bill. I’m hoping AARP is standing with the right folks.

What do you think about the proposals?

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