My Mom’s turning 70 and I don’t know how to feel.
By: Melissa Gerson
Tags: Baby Boomers, Daughters, Mothers, Aging, Family

I’ve always been a mommy’s girl. Ever since I can remember I’ve always been connected at the hip with my mother. She’s my confidant when I need to let something out. A calm when I’m stressed beyond belief. A kick in the ass when I need a reality check. An inspiration when I am down on my luck. She’s every part of me. She’s my best friend.

But my mother is also 40 years older than me. She’s a baby boomer. In a time where women were getting married and having kids by 23, my mom graduated college, backpacked around Europe, and began her career.

She moved to Philadelphia after she graduated in 1972 where she eventually met my father. Both of them started a relationship after his first divorce (she was the maid of honor at his first wedding). So after years of dating and breaking-up my mother was going to move to California. In the summer of ’79 my mom gave my dad the ultimatum of getting married to her or not getting back together at all. Yes, that’s right, my mom asked my dad to marry her.

In 1980, my parents packed up and moved across country to San Fransisco. While in California my mom’s career began to flourish. She decided to focus her 30’s on her career instead of parenting. After all, she got married at 29 (my age now) so it made sense.

As the late 80’s rolled around, my parents were struggling to get pregnant. In the winter of 1989 my mom received a biological miracle: twins.

At age 40, my mom gave birth two my brother and me at a hospital in Berkley California. Now it may seem contrite to call yourself a miracle, but knowing my mom, she deserved it. She still does.

I don’t remember the first few years of my life in California- mostly just the highlights: Earthquakes, Berlin Wall, and Aids.

For my mom, she was becoming the token female hire. So it was inevitable that she’d slowly move up the ranks in the business. After all, she was a kick ass chick.

She had an offer to work in the Pacific Northwest. So once again my parents packed up (this time with a few extra things) and we moved to the place I’d eventually call my hometown: Lake Oswego, Oregon.

As you can imagine, the 90’s weren’t any easier for a women in business- especially in a managerial role. But as the Elizabeth Warren quote says, “Nevertheless, she persisted”. This drive allowed my mom to travel all over the country.

She became a regional Vice President for a huge company which meant that her weekdays were filled to the brim with meetings and corporate events.

Regardless, she still managed to make time to Girl Scout meetings, soccer games, and would even cook our meals before she left on business trips(My father’s culinary skills mostly consisted of hotdogs).

Even into my early teens, I’d wait patiently at the staircase as my mom would return from her trips. I’d get so excited as I heard the garage door opened and pretended to be in my bed as she made her way upstairs to give me a hug.

But like I said, my mother is 40 years older than me. So as she got into her mid 50’s the traveling was getting to her. She decided to cut down and work from home.

She was there for me while I was going into my angsty tween years. Looking back I was such a little shit. But she put up with the slamming doors, yelling, and crying.

Due to outside circumstances, she was forced to retire. She welcomed it. It was strange for me to have two retired parents when I was in high school.

I interpreted it as a bad thing. I’d lie to my friends about her job and didn’t fully understand that her retiring was a HUGE deal. She worked for the same company for 20+ years and was extremely successful. But I also lived in a town where money meant more than substance. If I could do it over, I’d thank her as much as humanly possible.

Here was a women who put up with my selfishness and relentless negativity. She never wavered and even went to my ski meets. My mother who hated the cold and snow trekked up to the mountain to watch my mediocre athletic skills.

20 years of working hard paid for my brother and I to go to any college we wanted. My brother, who had a crush on a girl, decided to stay and attend University of Oregon. I, who was sick of my suburban life, decided to move across country and live out my dreams in NYC.

All a while she was dealing when my grandma who was suffering from dementia. The thing about having older parents: you have older grandparents. My mom eventually moved her into our house and then a home. I can’t imagine what it’s like having to take care of the person who raised you as they slowly forget who you are.

After my grandma passed, my mom decided it was time to leave my hometown for good. She hated the rain and really didn’t need a four person house anymore. So in the summer of 2013 I helped pack up my childhood home as my parents made their way to Arizona.

The years went by and my mom is still crushing it. She volunteers for non-profits, plays golf, and sometimes parties harder than me. Our relationship is even better than ever.

But as my mom turns 70 in a few days, I can’t help but to feel a little broken. As I’m telling my friends my 30th birthday doesn’t bother me, I want to scream:

“MY MOM IS TURNING 70 AND I DON’T KNOW HOW TO FEEL!”

This is a person who’s always been there for me. Not too many people get to have their mother sleep on their shitty couch for three weeks while they recover from ACL surgery.

This person who’s been there for me for 30 years may only have a few decades left with me? Will she be there to see me get married? To be a grandparent? See me finally be successful? Will the 2–3 times a year I see her be enough for me? Should I move back west?

My mother’s always been the type of person who’s there for her family, but never forgets to be there for herself.

Keep on. Keeping on.