My mother was born in 1960, the year of the first electronic computer.
In 1969, when she was 9, astronauts aboard the Apollo 11 arrived on the moon.
It was a special decade for humanity, but more special for me, cause on February 14, 1960, my mother arrived in this world in a family who lived on the banks of the Ipiranga River, the one where D. Pedro gave the cry. She was the oldest of three brothers.

She was always witty and clinging very easily to people.
But her greatest quality was to be the center of the family.
She never went to college, but that did not stop her from working in various places.
She had always been a dreamer, wanted to do medicine and even thought about being a flight attendant, even though she had never traveled by plane.

In 1990, when she was 30 years old, she was graced with the arrival of two girls, twins. Two at a time. She decided that she would not work anymore and that she would occupy the most important position of her life: to be a mother.
She liked the new position so much that ten years later she got a promotion, my brother. A sweet little boy.

My mom was the kind of person who was always okay, except when she was fighting with us. “You stay too much on the computer”; “Drop this phone”; “Wash that crockery”.
It was that kind of mother who put her children first.

Sometimes I hear that Pink Floyd’s song, Mother, and I remember of her.

Momma will not let anyone get dirty through
Momma’s gonna wait up until you get in
Momma will always find out where you’ve been
Momma’s gonna keep baby healthy and clean

She was like that, overprotective. And I hated it. Today, I miss it.

We learn to live with longing. We learn to cling to memories, photos, videos.
I keep small things that were hers. As if they were treasures. I know it’s silly, it’s just stuff. But it’s her stuff.

Time works well, it heals a lot and happily passes fast.
And what remains is the lesson that life is a breath, one day we are and another we are not.

Maybe that’s the most important lesson she left me.
We have to do what we want, here and now.

[…]

1960 will always be my favorite year.