Life, Writing, Weirdness

Today should have been my mother’s 79^th birthday.

She was always good at keeping secrets when it came to her personal health and major family issues. This was a family tradition, I think, and was done under the guise of not wanting her children to worry. I can think of half a dozen significant events that weren’t related to her that I was very angry about after the fact. One or two of them I’m still angry about, so I long ago made the resolution to keep things out in the open as much as I could with my own kids.

I have other reasons to be angry now, all of them related to Mom’s health in the last couple of years she was with us, but none of those really matter anymore, because she’s not with us even if I feel like she should be.

It’s entirely likely that I haven’t properly processed my grief yet. There are reasons, but fundamentally I’ll work through things in my own way in my own time.

She’s on my mind a lot, of course, the rock of my childhood, but especially today, even more than on the anniversary of her death. I’d really rather remember happy things. That’s still hard, but I’m working on it.

There will be tears today and that’s okay. There will be a drink or two and that’s also okay. Mom never liked having her picture taken but there are photos over most of my lifetime and a few before. I’ll spend time going through those old photos and the truly tiny amount of video and audio I have. At least I never have to lose Mom’s voice.

Happy birthday, Mom. I miss you.