Today is my mother's birthday; she would have been 81. I've been having such a delayed
reaction to her death - it has now been three months and 14 days - and it seems that she
occupies so many of my thoughts, so much of the time. I keep remembering so many little
moments, so many missed opportunities. Did I confide in her enough so that she felt a
part of me? Did I let her know often enough how vital her influence was on me, in
creating me and shaping me and making me very much who I am today? Her sense of
humor haunts me. Why cannot I see the lightness in every situation like she did? I used to
call her "Pollyanna" and now I covet that quality the most...
Something will happen, some little nothing, really, like Danny and Amanda will have
me over for dinner and when I get home, the first thing I do is reach for the phone to share
it with her. Every time that happens, it's like I'm hearing my sister tell me - again - that
she's gone. She's gone. I don't know how I will ever get past this and yet I know I will.
Maybe what I want is to NOT get past it because that would mean I really have let her go.
Happy Birthday, Mom. I love you.