April 16 · 2026
70 Years of Light
From six kids, six who married in, and enough grandchildren to field a baseball team — a love letter, pinned as a constellation. One star for every year. Lighting up as the family posts.
↓Mom,
For seventy years you have been the Joy in every room. Six of us grew up under your roof, and somewhere along the way you made it so that every grandchild — there are a lot of us now — feels like the most important person in the world when they are with you. That is not a small thing. That's actually the whole thing.
Today Trenda, Justin, Derrick, Steven, Brittany, and Jenny — plus Craig, Tara, Lauren, Erin, Kalen, Dawson, and the fifteen-ish grandkids whose names you remember better than their own parents do — are sending you a memory for each of your seventy years. They're arriving in the group chat as we speak. This page is where they land, so you can revisit them all in one place, for as long as the internet keeps the lights on.
Live from the group chat
New memories appear here automatically as the family posts them. If the number says fewer than 70, refresh in a few minutes — someone is almost certainly typing.
From the archive
Some of these came from the balloons Jenny and Brittany hid around your living room for your 69th. Some are newer. All are true.
A request, in Justin's words
"I remember last year it really meant a lot to Mom that everyone called her. So keep that in mind."
If you haven't yet today — please call her. A voicemail counts. A text doesn't (that's what this website is for).
Behind the scenes
You weren't supposed to see this part. But honestly, it's too good to hide.
Justin made a proper deck. With rules. With a stagger schedule. A flowchart. A section titled "The Lauren Situation." It is a genuine masterpiece of sibling bureaucracy, and if you're reading this on your birthday please know: he presented it with a straight face.
Read the full PowerPoint →Memories were staggered throughout the day on a specific, carefully-debated schedule ("not too fast, not too slow — we'll know it when we see it"). After 6pm, all rules were off. The group chat went feral. It was beautiful.
Lauren was going to create a heart out of seventy printed photos. It was going to be Pinterest-worthy. She has five small children, threw a party last night, and woke up sick this morning. She does not need to apologize for anything, ever. We love you, Lauren.
In the middle of all of this, one of your sons said "I'm making a website for her," and the only sensible response was "Oh that's okay. You don't need to make a website for her. Mom is 70." He did anyway. You are reading it.
Many more to go.
Thank you for every Sunday dinner, every phone call, every time you told one of us we were being ridiculous, every time you were right, every laugh that filled a room, every night you stayed up worrying, every morning you started over anyway. Thank you for being exactly who you are. We love you the most, Mom.
For Joy Andreason Williams
On her 70th birthday
— Trenda, Justin, Derrick, Steven, Brittany, Jenny
and everyone they brought with them
April 16, 2026