88 REVOLUTIONS AROUND THE SUN

MY BIRTHDAY TOAST TO MOM

Today, we celebrate a life that has touched the hearts of everyone here.

Mom, when I think back to my formative years, one of the clearest lessons I was given—over and over—was to practice optimism.

The power of positive thinking.

The decision to look for light, even when the world is trying to dim it. For most of my life, I credited Dad with amplifying that lesson in me. And I still do. I’m grateful for it. I carry it with me every day.

But something shifted for me recently—something I can’t unsee now.

After you read something I wrote about life… about unfulfilled vows… the promises we make to ourselves, whether in this lifetime or in that mysterious moment before birth, when we might have quietly said,

This is what I want to learn. This is how I want to grow. This is who I want to become.

I called you, and we spoke.

And you said something so simple that it struck me like thunder.

You said:

“I’ve had a wonderful life. I’m grateful to be alive. And I’m living it my way.”

And Mom… I need everyone here to feel what I felt in that moment.

Because this wasn’t spoken by someone who has been spared life’s adversities.

You’ve endured losses that would have the right to harden a person.

And yet—here you are.

Not bitter. Not closed. Not defined by sorrow.

Still grateful. Still present. Still choosing life.

That is not denial. That is strength. That is character.

That is a soul with an inner backbone that doesn’t break when grief presses on it.

And I realized in that conversation: Yes, Dad taught me the language of optimism—but you have lived its deepest meaning. You have shown what it looks like when positivity isn’t just a philosophy… but a practice. A daily act of courage. A decision made again and again, not because it’s easy, but because it’s noble.

You are the embodiment of something I don’t even have a perfect word for.

It’s resilience, yes.

But it’s more than that.

It’s a kind of spiritual dignity—quiet, unshowy, unadvertised—where pain is real, love is real, loss is real… and still you choose gratitude.

Still, you keep your heart open. Still, you keep your life honest. Still, you keep moving forward—your way.

Mom, when people talk about role models, we often point to the loudest voices, the biggest accomplishments, the most public victories.

But what I admire most is what you’ve done without a spotlight.

The way you’ve held the weight.

The way you’ve remained kind.

The way you’ve continued to love.

If a life can be measured by what it leaves behind in others, then yours has given your children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren real strength, wrapped your family in warmth, and offered a hope that isn’t sentimental—because it’s been proven.

So today, I don’t just want to say “Happy Birthday.”

I want to say thank you.

Thank you for being the mother who didn’t just raise a family—you raised the standard of what it means to endure with grace.

Thank you for showing us that life can be incredibly painful… and still incredibly beautiful.

Thank you for reminding us—without preaching, without performing—that gratitude is a choice, and sometimes it’s the bravest one.

Mom, you are proof that the soul can be refined without being reduced. That love can keep expanding even after loss. That a person can be wounded and still wise.

You are the woman we admire.

You are the strength we aspire to.

So everyone—please raise your glass.

To my mother—

To 88 years of beauty, courage, and unshakable spirit.

To the love you’ve given, the light you’ve kept lit, and the example you continue to be.

Happy Birthday, Mom.

We all love you!