Honouring my Mum at 95: Powered by insights from Second 50

Last weekend, around 25 family members gathered to celebrate my extraordinary mum, Leah Horwitz, on her 95th birthday. As this milestone approached, it would have been easy to arrange a grand venue and draft a long speech. But, instead of going into default party-planning mode, I channelled what I’ve learned from Second 50 to create a celebration that was deeply meaningful to both Mum and all who came along.

These days, Mum lives with dementia. She’s still curious, kind, and very much herself, but it’s clear she’s happier within a smaller world. She deserves a big party but it would have been too much. We knew it would stress and confuse her.  

A personally-planned party

I took courage from all I’ve learned about dementia through Second 50 to suggest to my family plan a more personal celebration. We held the party in a sunlit room on the top floor of her aged care residence, along with DIY balloon decorations and simple food via caterers.

I gave considerable thought to finding an alternative to traditional speeches.

Mum has had such a long, rich and interesting life that there’s more than enough material for a long and heartfelt speech. She was a concert pianist as a teenager then, for a while, chose life in a convent. After my father became unwell and had to close his business, she built what I now think of as a Second 50 career by teaching piano, including leading the keyboard department at the Queensland Conservatorium, studying with Dr Suzuki in Japan while in her 60s and examining for AMEB across Australia and Asia well into her 80s.

She already knows how proud we are of her achievements ­­— in fact, she received an Australia Day honour for her services to music — so running through these in a speech didn’t feel the ideal way of honouring her.

Instead, I considered all I’ve learned from Second 50 about circle practice and the power of story-telling. I’ve seen what happens when people share authentic stories within a circle and be heard. One story sparks another. Wisdom builds on wisdom. And what emerges is deeper, richer, and more meaningful than any speech could deliver. So, I thought it would be beautiful for everyone attending the 95th birthday to sit in a circle — literally — to share stories. Not just about Mum, but with her. 

A few days before the party, I gave family members an invitation to share a one or two minute story during the celebration. I offered some optional prompts to help spark thoughts, such as how Leah has shown you love, a moment when she inspired you, examples of practical help she’s given, a time she revealed her sense of fun and adventure, or when she made the best of a tough situation.

Immediate family members were unsure whether my idea of a story circle would work and, to be honest, I had no idea how it might fly.  

I’m glad I didn’t listen to those doubts because what unfolded was pure magic. 

Story circle magic

Not everyone shared a story, which is just fine, but everyone avidly listened. Some of my close cousins talked about our ‘merged families’ and spoke of Mum as their second mother, a constant in both their childhood and adult lives. One cousin shared how she stayed with Mum after each chemotherapy for breast cancer treatments, with Mum staying in her pyjamas in sympathy as well making her juices and, despite her fear of needles and blood,   administering injections.

Many stories touched on the way Mum and Dad opened their home to others, including how, even though she was a terrible cook, the oven was broken, the wallpaper was peeling and the garden overgrown, Mum offered up our house for my cousin’s big garden wedding.

One story flowed into another. The cousin who came to live with us when he hated boarding school and the music students who shared my bedroom when they had nowhere else to go.

There were tales of adventure encompassing volcano eruptions in Greece, marketplaces in Libya, and near-missed plane crashes, including how Mum was not even slightly concerned by any of it. She did draw a line though when she was the last AMEB examiner to work in Papua New Guinea and drove through the highlands in a locked car with a machete on the seat for protection!

Music featured in others stories, with family members reflected on her unique, eccentric, but brilliant teaching methods, such as making them sing silly songs and dance around the room. Mum’s only granddaughter recalled how, despite hating Mum’s emphasis on practicing the sections of piano piece she was worst at, she now incorporates the same technique into her work as an Occupational Therapist. 

The impact of Mum’s presence in all our lives was vivid. My brother shared how Mum’s gentle nurturing of his interest in Japanese language and culture resulted in him meeting his wife. My children noted how our home has become a reflection of my mother’s, with full encouragement for all sorts of people to visit and stay over.

Legacy rather than achievements

These stories only touch on some of what was shared about mum at her party. The point of sharing them with you is to give you a flavour of the depth of stories and how they became an integral part of a celebration shaped for who Mum is now, as well as a living record of who she has always been.  

A few of Mum’s accolades were touched on in the shared stories, but mostly people didn’t list her achievements but focused on showing her the ripple effect of the way she has lived her life on all of ours, across multiple generations. Her legacy.

Not saving our best words for a eulogy

Perhaps the most important part of Mum’s 95th birthday story circle is that we shared stories with her now. Not at her funeral. Not in hindsight. But while she could hear them and engage with them. While she could smile, laugh, interrupt with comments, and feel the love and gratitude of her impact. 

The success of our story circle made me reflect on how often we get this wrong. We save the best words for eulogies. We throw big parties that feel performative, but don’t enable real connection, especially for the person being celebrated. And when it comes to celebrating older people — especially those living with dementia — we sometimes create events they end up having to endure, rather than enjoy. 

I’m so happy that I could use so much I’ve learned from Second 50 to create a beautiful moment of meaning, recognition and love for my mum.

And, as a total bonus, this very personal celebration turned out to be a massive gift for us all.