Birthday Stories

birthdayMy mother tells me that the March wind was so vicious on the night I was born she was afraid the windows in her seventh floor hospital room were going to burst into a million pieces.

And thus her first (but certainly not last) sleepless night of motherhood.

My mother has been telling me a lot of stories lately. It concerns me a little bit, this new propensity of hers to talk about the past. “I suppose I’ve told you about the time your Aunt Lissie and I went on a double date with these boys she met in the drugstore,” she’ll say. Or “I’m sure you’ve heard me talk about those people who lived in the apartment upstairs from us when your dad and I were first married.”

Thing is, many of these stories are new to me. My mother has never been one for dwelling on the old days. But recently, it seems like she wants to make sure I’ve heard all the things about her life that I might have missed.

My birthday story  is one that’s been told many times. The blustery March wind, the early labor brought about because her doctor told he he was going out of town and wouldn’t be there on her due date. My dad leaving the hospital to go have the oil changed in his car and completely missing my birth. (“But they told me it would be a long time!” he always protested when we got to that part.)

I’ve always loved hearing stories. And I love telling them.

Which is why I started writing this blog seven  years ago on my birthday.

Since then I’ve told you all lots of stories. About my job, my family, my dogs. The books I read, the music I play, the places I go. I’ve told stories about houses bought and sold. About a Grandson who graced our world with hope and light.

Stories are important to me. I’m soaking up all these stories my mother is telling me these days. She was born in March, too, only not in a hospital, but in the four-poster bed at her grandmother’s house in central Kentucky. She has 86 years worth of stories to tell, and I’m happy to listen.

I’m happy you’ve listened to my stories here for the past seven years.

I hope you’ll keep listening. There are bound to be more.



9 thoughts on “Birthday Stories

  1. Oh, please, please get all those stories written down. Not a week goes by that I don’t think – If only—-I had talked to my father about his life—-If only I had asked mom more about her life (although she told me about some of it)—If only my sister would talk more about her childhood. The “if only’s” in life will fill you with regret. I’m so glad your mother is telling you more about her life. Although most people think their past lives are boring and not much to talk about it is the substance of who they are and utimately who we turn out to be. Keep asking questions.

  2. Of course we’ll be listening! Your stories are wonderful – they’ve become a part of our lives, too. And everyone is right – listen to those stories told by others. How many times since my mom’s death I’ve thought, “Oh, gosh. I wish I’d asked her about that!”

    And congratulations on those seven years. That’s quite an achievement.

  3. That’s what I’ve always loved about your blog, that you started it on your birthday. And I appreciate how you connected this milestone with the stories your mother is telling. Thanks for sharing bits and pieces of your life with us, Becca. Your stories, and your family’s stories, are important and I feel honored that I’ve gotten to know you this way.

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