Today would have been my mother’s 98th birthday. Given that she died in 2019, it seems a little strange to be commemorating it. You don’t have a birthday party without the guest of honor.

Except, as humans we have an awareness of time (and mortality) that the rest of creation does not. Why else do we celebrate birthdays? And anniversaries? We want to mark the passage of time, because time is important to us.

Seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, decades, centuries, millennia, they are all part of our attempt to find meaning in the world. The labels we use give us a sense of place, a feeling that we are somehow in control, even though there is nothing we can do to stop the passage of time.

My mother never completely reconciled herself to that passage of time. She would joke about the trials and tribulations of age, but she wasn’t really joking. She really did wish she could be “young, beautiful and rich,” even though she knew it was an impossibility.

Mind you, if she had gotten her wish, she might have found that like magical wishes in myths and fairy tales, getting what you want just brings a new set of problems. She knew that too.

Today I remember a woman who was a bundle of contradictions, as we all are. She usually approached life with an expectation of joy. She made friends wherever she went. She cared about other people.

Seven years after her death, it still seems weird to not have her around. As a child you expect your parents will live forever.

She loved her children (and her grandchildren) and was proud of our successes.

We celebrate the milestones in our lives because we are aware of the passage to time. Birthdays, first day of school, graduation, wedding days, holidays, they are all important to us.

So today, with a mixture of joy and sadness, I am remembering my mother. She may have been flawed in some ways, but she always wanted to do her best, and she loved her children.