Today would have been my mother's 95th birthday. I know people who are 95 or thereabouts and it seems odd, as Mum died 25 years ago, which seems like forever. The thought of her being alive like them seems fantastical. She never met our boys adopted from Romania, though we were in the process of approval during her last months and she knew about it. She never met Kyle, Son #5, either, as he was from my wife's side of the family.
I heard long ago not to criticise your parents until your own children have grown, which I used to take as a caution not to be too critical until you have seen the same problems yourself. Yet over time it has had the opposite effect. I said for years that I gave my parents about the same grades when I was in my 50s in my 20s, but for different, and I hoped more accurate reasons. But my estimations of mother, father, and stepfather have all gone down since then. Not hugely, but enough to notice.
Well, if they could see me their estimation of me might have gone down also, eh?
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