Growing up, this is the story I requested more frequently than most. Though of course my mother will always tell it better but I'll make an attempt:
My mother was eight on the day that my grandmother brought my aunt home from the hospital. My mother was to attend church with my great aunt and her cousins. Instead of going to church she opted to go out with her brothers and my grandfather to a Long Island beach. Because of course! If the men were allowed to have a beach day then so should she. While out in the Atlantic, one thing led to another and she was caught in a wave, pulled down into the ocean and almost drowned.
After surviving that ordeal they all went home to my grandparent's house in Queens. My mother, having had enough of the ocean, decided to focus on land-based activity. She decided to head out for a bike ride. Remember that this all happened on the same day; the beach and now a bike ride. She goes out on her bike and is involved in a hit and run where she was the victim. A driver came speeding by and hit her on her bike. She awoke in the hospital with a broken shoulder and leg. She would go on to spend the rest of the summer in a wheelchair.
So! Today is my mother’s birthday. I'm happy you survived your eighth year and got through a few more.
Happy Birthday, Peg. I love you the moon and the stars.