All five of us kids were gathered around the table that day. Me, Nora, who was 19, Ben, 17, Lucy, 15, and Owen, 13.
Dad sat at the end in his usual chair, wearing a button-down he had ironed himself because he always said your appearance reflected your self-respect.
He cared deeply about appearances. More than I realized back then.
My father had always wanted a big family. All his friends had several kids, and he wanted that same “big, happy family” image. Family
Mom gave him exactly that. She gave up sleep, time, money, careers she might have loved, and even a body that had never really belonged only to her again.
We kids planned a small birthday celebration for her. Nothing fancy. Just family, homemade food, and a cake she baked herself — because that’s who she is. Family
We sang to Mom. Owen tried to swipe frosting from the cake, and Ben slapped his hand away. Lucy took pictures.
Then Dad stood up. He held a folder wrapped in shiny ribbon.
“There’s something I need to say,” he announced.
We all smiled.