What My 102-Year-Old Mother Taught Me About Living—and Dying—with Vitality
Crater Lake was one of her favorite places, a reminder of how nature nourished her spirit.
December 20th marks one year since my mother died at the age of 102. As this anniversary approached, I found myself revisiting the details of her long, remarkable life—and the hard lessons that came at the end of it. I want to honor her, but I also want to speak directly to women in midlife who, like me, are shaping the future of our health with every choice we make today.
My mother was my first—and perhaps greatest—example of what it looks like to live with vitality. Long before I ever dreamed of becoming a health coach, she was quietly modeling the pillars I now teach in the Vitality Blueprint. She cooked real meals at home. She walked regularly. She played golf well into her 90s (her first hole-in-one at 85 and her second at 89). She gardened, entertained, played bridge, stayed connected socially, and protected her independence for as long as she possibly could.
She also had a deep love of learning—a true growth mindset long before we ever used that phrase. In her 50s, she went back to school to take college-level French classes. She didn’t just dabble; she learned to speak French. She traveled widely—to Mexico, Canada, Europe, and across the U.S.—because she believed the world was meant to be explored. She always had a book (or two) beside her. Curiosity kept her mind active and her world large.
And she brought beauty into everything she touched.
She planted pots of vibrant summer flowers—later, when she could no longer do the planting herself, my sisters and I would do it for her as a Mother’s Day gift. She set beautiful tables, decorated for every season and holiday, collected art and meaningful pieces from her travels, and loved to entertain. She dressed with intention, doing her hair and makeup and putting on her pearls every day until she physically couldn’t. She cooked like an artist—always trying new recipes, always making meals an experience.
Those things shaped me, too.
Because of her, I learned to love hiking, wildflowers, art, cooking, setting a pretty table, entertaining, and making the everyday feel special.
And she had a clear vision for the kind of grandmother she wanted to be—present, active, engaged. She achieved it by taking care of her health. In her 70’s she could get down on the floor to play with my young boys. She could hike, ski, travel, and make memories with her grandchildren because she invested in her future health long before she needed the foundation she had built.
If you asked me, even ten years ago, what my mother represented, I would’ve said this:
She was the embodiment of “Just Do It.”
Action over excuses. Moderation over extremes. Curiosity over complacency. Beauty over neglect. A long life built one daily choice at a time.
But as she reached her 90s, I also learned from her what it means to decline. And that part has shaped me just as much.
She brought elegance to even the smallest moments.
The Lessons in Her Final Years
In 2016, when she was 93, my mom fell and broke her hip. Up until then, she had been fiercely independent. But she didn’t take rehabilitation seriously. She resisted physical therapy, and I watched her mobility—and with it, her independence—begin to slip away.
First came the walker.
Then giving up driving.
Then shorter walks.
Then fewer social connections.
She lived alone for the first time after losing my dad in 2014—the end of a 72-year marriage. She did her best, but it was a profound transition, and her world began to contract.
She loved sports with the same enthusiasm she brought to learning and travel. Basketball, golf, football—she followed it all. She always knew who was playing, kept track of scores, and marked the games or tournaments she planned to watch each day. Even late in life, sports became one of the few activities she could still enjoy consistently. But in her final months, her enthusiasm began to slip away. It was yet another reminder of how deeply our capacity for joy is connected to our physical and cognitive independence.
She remained in her home until she was 100. But another fall, just a month after her 100th birthday, pushed her immediately into a wheelchair and into assisted living. She lived there for nearly two years, miserable in a body that no longer cooperated and a world she could no longer fully participate in.
Her hearing was too poor for conversation.
She couldn’t do simple tasks for herself.
She hated the food.
She was bedridden for the last year.
Even daily visits could not lift her isolation.
These last two years were heartbreaking to witness. And even though she lived an extraordinary life, I can’t pretend her final chapter didn’t change me. It did.
It made me clearer than ever that frailty is not inevitable—but it is something we must actively plan to avoid.
It made me determined to write a different ending for myself.
And it reminded me that the years we want to thrive in later must be built now, in midlife, before the foundation cracks.
She and my dad taught us to explore, to adventure, and to appreciate the world’s beauty.
What Her Life—and Death—Taught Me About Midlife Wellness
My mom taught me that vitality is not an accident.
It’s not luck.
It’s not genetics.
It’s the accumulation of choices made over decades.
She lived to 102 because she moved her body, nourished herself with home-cooked meals, stayed socially engaged, kept exploring, and nurtured a curious, active mind. She was living my Vitality Blueprint long before I put words to it.
But she also taught me something I didn’t want to learn:
If you stop engaging in your own wellness, decline can accelerate quickly.
If you stop moving, your body will let go of the capacity you didn’t use.
If you don’t advocate for your future, others will have to make decisions for you.
Her life story is a mosaic of resilience, curiosity, creativity, and—at the end—a final chapter that did not reflect her spirit.
Both sides matter.
Both inform how I want to live the next 30+ years of my own life.
A Legacy of Action and Beauty
This summer, when we buried her ashes, my nephew shared memories that captured her beautifully—her love of the outdoors, her joy in making memories, her encouragement to explore, her impeccable sense of style and hospitality.
She helped us see that the world is a beautiful and magnificent place—and she encouraged us to explore it, savor it, and share it.
She didn’t just teach us how to live; she taught us how to notice life.
A Personal Turning Point
As I approach her anniversary this year, I’m holding two truths:
I want to live with her strength, curiosity, sense of adventure, and appreciation for beauty.
I do not want to repeat her final years of frailty, isolation, and dependence.
Both truths guide how I show up for my clients—and for myself.
Midlife is not too late.
Midlife is not the beginning of the end.
Midlife is the doorway to our third act.
It’s the season where the choices we make have the greatest return on investment. Because the habits we build now—around movement, nourishment, sleep, purpose, mindset, and connection—are what determine not just how long we live, but how well we live.
Proof that staying active looks different at every age—and every step counts.
Planning Now for the Future You Want
If my mom’s life taught me anything, it’s this:
Move your body today so you can still move it tomorrow.
Keep learning—curiosity keeps the mind young and the world big.
Stay connected so you’re not alone when life gets harder.
Nourish yourself well because food is one of the greatest forms of self-respect.
Create beauty in your life in small, everyday ways—it builds joy and meaning.
Cultivate purpose because it’s what gets you out of bed at any age.
Choose the life you want now so you’re not forced into a life you don’t want later.
I don’t want to be frail in my 90’s.
I don’t want to lose my independence.
I don’t want my world to shrink.
I want to age powerfully.
I want to maintain my freedom, mobility, strength, and joy.
And I want that for every midlife woman reading this.
We can’t control everything.
But we can stack the odds in our favor.
We can build a life of vitality—one choice, one habit, one step at a time.
My mom showed me the blueprint.
Her life was the “Just Do It.”
Her death was the reminder not to wait.
So today, on the anniversary of her passing, I celebrate her extraordinary life.
And I recommit to shaping my own.
Because the future we want isn’t something we drift into.
It’s something we design—starting now.
Call to Action
If this reflection stirred something in you — a desire to age differently, to stay mobile and independent, or to rewrite the ending of your own story — you don’t have to do it alone.
Download the Vitality Blueprint to start putting the habits in place today that your future self will thank you for.
And if you want personalized support, I’m currently accepting two new clients who are committed to aging powerfully and intentionally.
Click here to book a free discovery call.
Modeling vitality for her grandsons on the course she loved.