Julie’s Story


My younger daughter this week celebrated a birthday—her first since losing her mother to breast cancer in December. Julie wrote this brief remembrance in her honor. I was struck by the idea that, yes, each of us reaches a point in our lives when no one remains to remember the day we were born—what the weather was like, what time we arrived, what Mom was doing when the birth pangs began. So I set aside my own blog post that I had prepared for today so you can recall the story of your own children’s birth and consider leaving them the gift of remembrance that my wife, Jo Anne, bequeathed to our daughter, Julie.

A year ago, Mom called to wish me a Happy Birthday, as usual.

And she started telling me the story of the day I was born: how she was at Woolworth’s on a beautiful spring-like day (like today), buying buttons for a sweater she had just finished knitting, and felt a little something like she’d need to go to the hospital soon.

She waited for Dad to come home from work, and made all the arrangements for someone to watch Wendy while Dad took her to the hospital. And just a little while later, there I was.

And I started to tease her, telling the story along with her, because she’d told me the same story every year, on my birthday.

Then she told me why she kept telling the story: because when Grandpa had died (many years after Nana), she felt that no one in the world was left to remember the day she was born.

And she wanted me to remember “my story".

I felt about yay big for teasing . . . because I finally understood why she told the story to me over and over.

Today, I missed hearing my story.

Read my newest book, Fat Guy in a Fat Boat, in print or Kindle from Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Fat-Guy-Boat-Peter-Yaremko/dp/0990905012/

Also available is my e-book, A Light from Within, about the small moments of our lives that seem commonplace until they are examined under a creative lens.

And my weekly reflection on each Sunday of the Jubilee Year of Mercy can be found at: http://www.peterwyaremko.com/mercy

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