Will you still need me, will you still feed me . . .

. . . when I'm sixty-four?

That’s how old my mother would have been today.

Not so old, really. Still young enough to be spry and active, certainly. Still young enough to chase after her grandchildren, and hold them, and read books to them. Still young enough to chase us out of the kitchen when she’s cooking, and to fall asleep in front of the television and then tell us she’s not asleep when we urge her to go to bed.

It’s strange what time can do. Some days everything seems fine. Then suddenly I’ll think of Mom, whether it’s because something reminded me of her or just completely at random, and I can’t see for the tears. I can still hear her at times, and I can see her laughing and then covering her mouth or tearing up or just smiling. She’s still with me. She always will be.

Tonight I will once again eat Godiva chocolate ice cream in her honor, and I encourage all of you to do so as well. Whether you knew her or not she would appreciate the gesture, and as a good Jewish mother she’d be happy you were eating well.

It’s hard to be sad on a day like this. It’s sunny out and in the fifties, which is perfect weather in my opinion. I have a wonderful wife and two incredible children. I have good friends and close family. I have a good job and a good career. I have a lot going for me. I just wish my mother was here to share it all. But I know that she’s still with us in whatever way she can be, and that she’s proud of us and happy for us and wants us to be happy as well. Days like this, it’s hard to remember that, but that just makes it even more important.

Thanks, Mom. I love you. Happy Birthday.