You would have been 78 today.
We would have celebrated.
Probably dinner topped off with cake and ice cream.
Presents.
Laughs.
Love.
It used to be your birthday.
That all stopped so many years ago.
In fact, it's sometimes hard to remember the birthdays we did celebrate together.
But they're there. Deep in my memories.
It's amazing how my heart has glazed over in a futile attempt to ease the pain of your loss.
It doesn't work. The devastation still seeps in.
I got that book of poems out tonight. The one you gave me a few months before our worlds changed.
I rarely open it.
Instantly brings tears to my eyes. It's too much.
I think I opened it tonight because I had a glass of wine. Must have been fate. The kids went on a late night run to the liquor store and asked me if I wanted any. I said yes. Took one last swig in the kitchen, before I headed to bed, in your honor. You would have loved that. You did enjoy your wine. We didn't drink often enough together. I loved when we did. It's those types of moments that make me smile through my tears.
Do you ever stop needing your mom? Do you ever stop missing her when she's no longer here? Does the immense loss ever lessen?
I think of you everyday, at some point, whether consciously or unconsciously.
Damn. I miss you.
The poems helped. They make me feel
closer to you, somehow, and I need those minutes when I can forget the stark reality of a life without you in it.
I found myself drawn to your note in the margin tonight.
Reminding me that you're still in my heart to listen.
It's not what I want. I'd do almost anything to have you back. I know that can't happen but it doesn't make the wanting any less.
So, for another birthday apart, I'm holding you close in my heart.
Happy Birthday, my sweet Mama.
I hope you truly can hear me.
My heart is full. I'm almost positive you're there.
It is what it is.
p
