Today, 31 years ago, my Mom died. This is a picture of her at age 8, with her Uncle George in Ballston Spa, NY. One of my cousins shared this picture with me about 5 years ago. I don’t recall ever having seen it before at that time. My cousin told me that George apparently always had these pants that were too big for him, so the family invariably called him George ‘Baggy Pants‘ Burton.
Her passing (to me) was one of those things that you’ll remember as long as you live, and of course, the day just happens to be the same one as when John F. Kennedy was assassinated.
I’m not going to relate the circumstances of her passing, that’s a story left untold. I remember it vividly, that’s sufficient. I don’t have a lot of pictures of her growing up and in her teens and twenties. I do have a few pictures of her and my father, but the majority of the family pictures are with my brother, who, for whatever reason refuses to share them. (Which admittedly is somewhat weird, since he is in denial about what sort of childhood he had with them and myself) Consequently, I’m left with my own memories and a few pictures that I’ve had saved, as well as shared photos from my cousins who are still living.
Every year that goes by, I celebrate her birthday on July 14, recall my parents’ wedding anniversary on October 8, and of course mourn the date of her death, November 22.
I miss you every day Mom.