Happy Birthday to me

Happy Birthday to me. I always think so much about my mother at this time of year; it almost feels as if she is very close to me. I miss her so much, and feel sad. She wouldn't have wanted me to feel sad, but I just do.

On the morning I was born, my father "threw" my mother into the back of a cab in Cincinnati, Ohio, and rushed her to the hospital, where on my birth certificate it says "mother's stay in hospital before delivery: 10 minutes". I weighed 4 lbs. and 3 oz, and was 2 months premature. My mother was a heavy smoker. I stayed in an incubator for a month, and my mother visited me every day.
My father was in the Coast Guard at the time, and they lived in a basement apartment.
Of course, I don't remember any of this.

And now I am 64 years old, and the time has gone by so fast. I hope I have many years left to work and to be with my family and friends. One does think about mortality at this time.
But I guess this makes each day more precious. As it should.