Mary Oostenbroek The last months have been full of introspection as my mom struggled through her last days. She lived to be ninety-three years old. She always reached out on special occasions and every member of the family could count on a knitted touque or sweater on our birthdays in the years when knitting was her passion.

Recently, I’ve been digging deep into the long-ago memories of my formative years. I happily recall the joyful times, of which there were many. Mom took great care of us, and my parents were the envy of most of my friends. She worked so hard to provide for us. I thankfully remember how she encouraged my art career in those early years and the decades since. I’m thankful for a loving mom and a wonderful childhood. I’ll miss her.