Born on the Hottest Day of the Year
Mom celebrated her 37th birthday in 1981 on her parents farm (author’s photo)
“You were born on the hottest day of the year!”
My grandparents would tell my mom this story, without fail, on her birthday each year. Mom, the oldest of nine children, was born in a humid Iowa hospital room without air conditioning. Her parents enthusiastically shared this story of her July 1944 birth until they died in 2000.
This year, Mom turned 80 years old. With such a significant milestone, I asked her which past birthday celebration was her favorite. She responded without hesitation.
“I just miss hearing from my parents. They would tell me how I was born on the hottest day of the year. I loved hearing them tell me this story.”
While I was growing up, Mom’s July birthday was often celebrated with my grandparents. Living in the same Iowa farm town, it typically included a home-cooked meal with a simple cake. This was life as we knew it through the 1970s and early 1980s. We enjoyed our days together without consideration of a future without this daily lifestyle. These were our golden years, and we didn’t even know it.
In the mid-80s, my parents moved from Iowa to Arizona. Mom and Dad jumped on the opportunity to go west as new empty-nesters. Mom’s birthday celebrations went from sharing cake around her kitchen table to enjoying a phone call from her parents many miles away.
Her landline rang on July 9th every year from 1987 until 1999. Mom would happily listen as her parents retold the story of her birth.
“You were born on the hottest day of the year! The hospital had no air conditioning…”
As an adult, I opted to stay in the Midwest while my parents comfortably settled in Arizona. Our birthday celebrations had a different feel from those I enjoyed as a child.
Mom and Dad would visit for many of our family milestones. Time kept churning as we found time for each other via phone, plane, or car. Memories were made, full of adventures with my energetic parents, who lived cross-country.
In the late 90s, Mom’s parents began having health issues. Her travel schedule was now focused on a caretaking role. Living out of town and knowing the burden placed on her siblings living nearby, Mom took her turn caring for her parents, flying back for extended stays. Her time was more intentional when quality time no longer came from an easy drive across town.
Mom’s dad died of cancer in 2000, with her mom dying a few months later. Losing her parents so quickly was difficult, but Mom professed how grateful she was for the time together in their final months, as well as those many years of living in the same town.
In 2008 came my divorce. My parents packed up without hesitation, staying with me until my world settled into a new chapter. A co-parenting agreement included two weeks in the summer when my kids would stay with their dad. I numbed at the thought of this aloneness. Recognizing a need to fill my calendar, Mom and Dad suggested a road trip across the western states.
As my parents drove, I sat with an atlas on my lap, mapping out our daily routes. The only known part of our trip itinerary was our return date to pick up my kids.
Traversing on our epic road trip, we created memories that will remain on my life highlight reel. I went from a self-sufficient 40-year-old daughter to a little girl again, embracing the warmth and understanding of my loving parents.
Mom’s 65th birthday hit in the middle of our cross-country adventure. Trying to get a few more miles under our belts before dark, we waited too long to choose our overnight city to celebrate Mom’s special day. At 10:30 that night, not a single restaurant was open in Gillette, Wyoming. We had to settle for packaged deli sandwiches and cookies from a convenience mart. Eating our loot on the hotel room bed with uncontrollable laughter is a favorite memory we retell.
I now live in Colorado, a mere seven-hour drive to my parents. As an empty nester with more available time, I visit them frequently. Mom’s birthday is an annual scheduled trip.
This year, Arizona hit record-high temperatures while I was there. Just like Mom’s birth 80 years ago, it was the hottest day of the year, but this time with air conditioning.
Working together on family history projects in the coolness of their house, memory quilts spread across the floor, we love reliving the past while meandering through our days together. Mom still misses hearing her parents enthusiastically tell the story of her birth. But I enjoy seeing her light up as we sit around her kitchen table, recounting this story while celebrating our gift of another day.
Mom’s 80th birthday — me with my mom, dad, and brother at Mom’s birthday dinner (author’s photo)
Photos capturing Mom’s 37th birthday celebration — her mom (in the black dress) smiles from the side (author’s photo)
