My mom, Margaret Jane Wert, taught me the meaning of wealth.

We never had any money while I was growing up. When I went off to college I was amused to learn from friends who didn’t have to work to pay for school that shopping at thrift stores was “cool.” Goodwill and garage sales were just where we shopped. That is when we weren’t lucky enough to get castoffs from folks at church.

I did sometimes resent classmates in the well-off environs of Aina Haina who traveled the world and wore the latest fashions. But I am ashamed to admit that when I think about how hard my mom worked to keep us in our little house near good schools.

My mother made magic out of scarce resources. We baked a lot of cookies and camped in the front yard. Pretty much every birthday was a barbecue at Kaimana beach. I celebrated my 40th the same way — what could be better? And “Auntie Maggie’s” house was where friends wanted to hang out. My mom embraced every single one of my friends as her own, literally, and she gave great hugs.

When she died five years ago, Mom was still living paycheck to paycheck. But we had to have three memorial services in three states to fit in all the people who loved her. The first was in Oregon, where she lived for the last two decades of her life. One person after another, many unknown to me, stood at a hastily planned service to talk about how she had touched their lives. They talked about her warmth and generosity, about her fierce loyalty and deep kindness.

Margaret Jane Wert always felt herself rich in life and friends. I am deeply grateful for that inheritance.