It’s June, 1962. I had just completed Air Force Navigator Training and earned my coveted silver navigator wings.  I had some leave to take and couldn’t wait to show my mom my shiny new wings. She was living in the DC area, and I was in Waco, Texas. 
Sooo , I hopped in my 1962, 4 Cylinder, 90 horsepower Chevy 2 and headed to DC; my first solo cross country drive.

During my short visit with my mom, I noticed she was walking with a noticeable limp. I asked her about it, and she just laughed it off as old age coming on.  Unfortunately, it was an early symptom of a cancer that would take her from us in about two years.  

My mom was born in NYC on January 19, 1903 to James and Catherine Connolly Lyons, both of Irish dissent.  She frequently said she was as Irish as Paddy’a pig (her words).  Ergo, I’m totally Irish on her side. No Irish temper here though.  I always cool my jets.  LOL

Mom had a childhood that would break a kid without that stubborn Irish grit.  Her mom died soon after giving birth to her.   Her dad, James, was kind, but he took a second wife, who would put the Wicked Witch of the West to shame, the epitome of the evil step mother.  One caveat. Everything I know about my mom’s stepmother is what my mom told me. Any bias there? Maybe. I’ll let you make up your mind at the end of the story. 
One lovely incident occurred when her dad gave her a pair of roller skates for her 10th birthday. Allegedly, Madame Stepmother took a sledge hammer to the skates, ruining them.  When her dad came home Stepmommy Dearest told him my 10-year-old future mom broke them.  
One more quickie.  One day. Stepmommy sprinkles sugar from kitchen to mom’s bedroom. Then tells dad his mean daughter did that.  
Sadly, Mom’s dad passed away when she was only 12 years old. 
Following a tradition of that time, my mom was with her dad when he passed, and she placed pennies on his eyes.  What a haunting memory. 
Now she was alone with Stepmommy Dearest. That wouldn’t last long.  At the ripe old age of 12, my mom literally, ran away from home.  I know few, sketchy details of her teen years.  She lived with various friends and cousins.   
She met my dad when still in high school.  Her best friend was Gertrude, his sister.  Hmmm. 
After high school, she worked at the telephone company as an operator (number please). She and her friend, my future Aunt Gert, were “flappers” during the roaring 20’s.
Mom and her boyfriend, Jerry, were walking together on a pretty day in 1925 NYC. They were close to City Hall.  Facetiously, she said, “I hear they marry people in there.”   He said something like. “Why don’t we go check on that?”  
In the time it took to get a marriage license, buy dime store wedding rings at Woolworths, and get back to City Hall to find a Justice of the Peace to perform the rite, they were married.  In my mom’s words, the time from that day in 1925 until he passed in 1943, were the happiest, idyllic days of her life. 
BTW. My dad magically changed those dime store rings into a gorgeous set of diamond engagement/wedding rings for their tenth anniversary. I gave those rings to my wife, Marjorie on our wedding day. She has worn them for 60 years this coming August. 
My vivid memory of my mom starts at my dad’s passing.  She was my fortress.  She was my safe house. She was my primary teacher.  She was my comfort zone.  Pleasing her was my prime motivation for excelling in school, behaving out of school, and doing chores at home.  The worst thing I could possibly do was bring dishonor to our small household.  I could hardly wait to start working to bring a few bucks to our table. She gave up so much to raise my brother and me.  It was always easy to be the good son because my brother was such a rat. Luckily for us, he left home for the most part when he was 17. 
I was 10.  Yay.  
She taught me so much about people and about life in general.  We were a small team working to survive and eke out some pleasure in the tough city of New York.  
I lived at home. Went to Queens College and Brooklyn College while working part time at the Post Office.  She worked at Family Circle Magazine in Great Neck, Long Island and in Manhattan.  We were doing ok financially when I graduated and entered active duty in 1961.  All went OK until October, 1962, when she was diagnosed with cancer.  I was stationed in Charleston and made several trips to DC where she was living,  to assist as required.  By October, 1963, I couldn’t provide essential care for her in DC, So I brought her to Charleston to stay with me.  Unfortunately, a young aircrew member, flying all over the world is not a great care giver,(or crew member, for that matter). She was a terminal cancer patient, who fought to survive until May 16, 1964 when she finally could rest. 
My girlfriend, Marjorie (yeah same first name as my mom; diagnose all you want), became close to my mom and was my biggest helper.  I do believe that’s when I fell in love. We were engaged in June and married in August, 1964. Wow! What a year!
Enuf.