When I see my mom growing older and more tired each day, my heart aches. Every line on her face holds a story of love and sacrifice, and every weary smile reflects the strength she’s carried for our family.
I pray to God to keep her healthy and strong, long enough for me to give back even a small part of all she has done for me.
She turned 90 today!
There’s something profoundly painful about watching your mother age. When you’re young, your mother seems invincible. She’s the one who fixes everything, who knows all the answers, who never seems tired or weak or fragile. She’s just Mom—constant, unchanging, eternal.
But then, slowly, you start to notice things. She moves a little slower. She gets tired more easily. The lines on her face deepen. Her smile, still warm, carries a weariness that wasn’t there before. And you realize, with a heart-sinking clarity, that she’s not invincible. She’s aging. And one day, she won’t be here anymore.
Every line on her face holds a story. Of sleepless nights when you were sick. Of worry when you made mistakes. Of joy when you succeeded. Of sacrifice—so much sacrifice—made quietly, without complaint, because that’s what mothers do. They give. And give. And give.
And every weary smile reflects the strength she’s carried for your family. The weight she bore so you wouldn’t have to. The problems she solved so you could focus on growing up. The exhaustion she hid so you wouldn’t worry.
Watching her age is a reminder of everything she’s given. And it’s a race against time—how much can you give back before it’s too late? How many moments can you create? How much love can you show? How many times can you say thank you before the opportunity is gone?
I pray to God to keep her healthy and strong, long enough for me to give back even a small part of all she has done for me.
That prayer is universal. Every child who loves their mother feels it. The desperate hope that there’s enough time. Enough years. Enough days to show her that everything she did mattered. That her sacrifices weren’t taken for granted. That she is loved, deeply and completely, in the same way she loved us.
She turned 90 today.
Ninety years. Nine decades of life. Of love. Of strength. Of carrying her family through everything. And she’s still here. Still smiling. Still the woman who gave everything.
This post is a love letter. To a mother who turned 90. To every mother who ages while their children watch, helpless to stop time, desperate to give back even a fraction of what was given.
If your mother is still here, don’t wait. Don’t assume there will always be more time. Tell her you love her. Thank her. Spend time with her. Let her know that every line on her face tells a story you’ll never forget. That every weary smile reflects a strength you’ll always admire.
Because one day, she won’t be here. And all you’ll have left are memories. Make sure they’re good ones. Make sure she knows.
Ninety years. And still the strongest person in the room.