My mother celebrates her 90th birthday today. She has asked me to keep it a secret and tell people she is only 89. For some reason she seems to think this sounds better. We really have our share of disagreements, but on this one I stand firm: I think 90 sounds pretty fantastic. My mother says she never thought she would live this long. She was weak and had two near fatal   illnesses under the age of 12. And then there was the fear of cancer. Her mother died of breast cancer when my mother was just 17, at a time when there was no such thing as Breast Cancer Awareness Month.  When I was 17 years old, I was worried that my life would parallel hers. I never shared my fears. Instead I would lie awake at night in my bed with the yellow and orange flowered bedspread she had made for me, counting how much time we had left together.  What I didn't know until years later was that she had had the same fear. She told me how she would write away for every piece of information she could find on how to prevent the fatal disease until my father made her stop. He told her she had to relax and stop worrying so much. She was going to be OK. He was right. And one October, many years into the future, we would celebrate her 90th birthday. My mother is the reason I live the life I do. Her fierceness and independence was how I learned to walk the path I have chosen. She was always a forward thinker, reading up on what's new and willing to try something different. She taught me kindness and to look out for those less fortunate than us.  When Dad died far too young, my mother was the one who sat me down the afternoon after the funeral and told me life would go on, and that as hard as it was to imagine, I would be happy again. She helped me to understand that death was a part of life we could never escape and we must learn to accept it.  Our roles have changed in recent years. She turns to me for help now. She asks me what to do. She is the one to call me when she is worried or concerned or needs help with something. I am the one who takes her shopping instead of her taking me. I am the one baking her favorite Greek cookies instead of her surprising me.  She tells me constantly how proud she is of me and how grateful she is for what I do for her. She doesn't know from where I get my calm and how I do all I do. She says that now she learns from me. And while I know that is all true, I am still learning from her. My mother is one of the strongest people I know. I am more fortunate. I have had her to lead the way. And I am so grateful. The gift of her long life has been a gift to me.  While my mother thinks we should keep this birthday quiet, I am not listening. I am celebrating her and the great fortune I have had to call her Mom. Happy 90th! From the mother's point of view, death is quite    .
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