No one inhabited a birthday as Mom did February 1. “It’s the worst day in the world for a birthday,” she would moan. Cold and snowy or gray and bleak. She hated winter, especially toward the end of her life, and it seemed a personal insult that was born smack dab in the middle of it.

But perhaps because she was so vocal about the day, I’ve associated it more closely with her than I would otherwise. And in a way it suits her. There’s a no nonsense quality about it, a black-and-whiteness. It is strong, a proper reflection of her character, and like her has had to endure a fair amount of adversity.

So now we come to February 1, 2016, the first February 1 without her on this earth since 1926.  It is a mild, sunny day, one Mom might approve of.

Happy 90th birthday, Mom! It’s hard to express how much I miss you.

(Mom with her namesake, my daughter Suzanne, 1989)