The Last To Eat But She Brings the Most Food

The first to arrive, the first to offer help, the first to say “I’m sorry.” She is a tiny woman, half my weight, but mighty in the power department. She is my mother, farm-born, one of ten children. Seven survived. Born twenty years and eleven months before my twin and I arrived. She is the last one to eat, but the one who brings the most food To every family reunion or church picnic except her eightieth surprise party. People love to make her laugh, because she has a keen sense of humor. She has taught Sunday school for over sixty years; she does this weekly. She has exercise classes for the “old people” where she lives. They are ninety-seven, and ninety-two. She is only eighty-eight. She and my dad were a formidable pair; they always had a united front. Backing each other up in every situation. He has been gone nine years. She reinvented herself, got rid of her astronomically large home, Moved into a small one bedroom apartment, and began a new life. She acts as an assistant manager, bingo caller, and social chairman. Weirdly enough, she has never played Bingo in her life. Her calendar has six to eight things to do a day. She delivers packages in her building, and Meals on Wheels. She volunteers all over the county. Almost everyone knows her. She is a whirlwind, a wonder, a woman of God, my mother.