You've probably have never heard of Roy Neuberger who died on Friday at 107. Neither had I, although he made a lot of money and had an impressive art collection. But seeing his obituary on Christmas morning made me think about (and yes, still miss) my mother. Born on the day the Wright Brothers flew at Kitty Hawk, she would have turned 107 this month.
I was fifty-one when she died. How many times have I wished that she could be here to see her fine grandsons grown up? What would she (who never worked once she married my father) think about her daughter still on the job at seventy-two? And commuting to work by bicycle? And lifting weights?
How many times have I wished that I could ask her how she felt at my age? I would like to tell her that I now understand why she was so sad that I lived far away because our boys also live far away. I would like to thank her for all the good things I am, and excuse her for all the good things I am not.
She didn't live long enough. And I still feel her loss.