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Sunshine but cool days and nights throughout the weekend in the Wyoming Valley

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Penn State faces tough task in Peppers

<p>PLYMOUTH &#8212; She would be 91 years old today.</p><p>My mother, Elizabeth Kraszewski O&#8217;Boyle, died May 10, 1968. She was 42.</p><p>Today, on her birthday &#8212; Sept. 25 &#8212; I remember her.</p><p>Then again, I remember her every day &#8212; usually several times a day.</p><p>Even though she was in my life for just over 17 years, I have so many memories.</p><p>I clearly remember her vegetable noodle soup, her decorative Christmas cookies, her meticulous housekeeping chores, her witty sense of humor, accompanied by her infectious laugh, her love of family and friends, her respect and admiration for people of all ethnicities, her devout religious beliefs, her welcoming personality, her determination to live life as normal as anybody else, despite having to wear that cumbersome brace on her polio afflicted left leg.</p><p>I also remember her anticipation of holiday celebrations, the thought of having company over and good times. I remember how she would enlist me to help her cut strips of red and green construction paper, then fold them into a circle and tape them together to make garland for our doorways and Christmas tree.</p><p>I remember how she would endure the pain of arthritic joints in her fingers as she sewed socks together to make stocking balls for us to play stick-ball with on Reynolds Street. I remember hearing her cheer when I played Little League baseball and, later, junior high basketball.</p><p>I can still hear her voice yelling, &#8220;Billy, supper time,&#8221; and I would run to join her and my dad at the dinner table. I remember grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup at lunch time and ice cream for breakfast. I remember her getting all dolled up and the aroma of Jean Nate as she prepared to go out with my dad on a Saturday night. I remember her sitting on our back porch as my friends and I played wiffle ball or basketball in our backyard. Sometimes, she would ask me to pick a plum off our tree and deliver it to her.</p><p>I remember her cooking. In fact, I can still taste her ham and mashed potatoes with sweet corn or her roast beef with gravy, or her pierogi, kielbasa, piggies and halushki. No wonder my pals always wanted to eat at my house.</p><p>I remember her compassion. The kid next door was mentally challenged and lived a tough life. My mom always talked to him. She made me get him an ice cream, a candy bar or a soda before she would give me money for my own.</p><p>I remember her driving and I remember her walking &#8212; both challenging for her. One time as we walked down Reynolds Street to catch a bus to &#8220;go over town&#8221; to see &#8220;Ben Hur,&#8221; she fell and hurt her legs. They were bleeding. We returned home where she washed her legs and applied Mercurochrome &#8212; a miracle drug back in the day &#8212; and Band-Aids. We then walked to the bus stop and got to the movie on time.</p><p>My mom laughed as we finally got our seats on the bus. That was her way. She never let anything get her down.</p><p>She kept that attitude through her sickness. I still remember the doctor in Philadelphia who told us that from walking with a pronounced limp for years and having her brace pound against her body, my mom&#8217;s kidney had become damaged. At some point, it became infected. Before anybody could correctly diagnose her, her other kidney became infected, as well.</p><p>This was the early 1960s. Kidney dialysis was new &#8212; transplants were pretty much a thing of the future.</p><p>My mom and I were in our living room one day &#8212; she in her recliner, me on the couch. We were watching television and laughing. My dad was probably at the Little League field.</p><p>My mom turned to me and asked, &#8220;If I need a kidney, would you give me one of yours?&#8221;</p><p>My answer was quick and sincere. &#8220;I&#8217;ll give you both if you need them.&#8221;</p><p>My mom smiled and said, &#8220;I would never ask you for that. I just wanted to hear your answer.&#8221;</p><p>I didn&#8217;t know it at the time, but she was nearing the end of her life. I never gave a second thought to the idea of donating one of my kidneys.</p><p>Until she died &#8212; and just about every day since, I&#8217;ve wondered how different things would have been &#8212; how different they could have been &#8212; if only we had tried.</p><style>
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<div class="neCaption">Bill O&#8217;Boyle </div></div><div class="metaInfo"><photo0>https://www.timesleader.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/09/web1_Oboyle_Bill-2-1-9.jpg</photo0><caption0>Bill O&#8217;Boyle </caption0><photoCredit0></photoCredit0></div></div>
<div class="metaInfo"><bylineMeta><p>By Bill O&#8217;Boyle</p><p>boboyle@www.timesleader.com</p></bylineMeta></div><div class="metaInfo"><shirttailMeta><p>Reach Bill O&#8217;Boyle at 570-991-6118 or on Twitter @TLBillOBoyle, or email at boboyle@www.timesleader.com.</p></shirttailMeta></div>

Beyond the Byline: Mom would have been 91 today; I miss her every day