Happy Birthday, Mom
You would be 53. I always wonder how you would take that. You didn’t handle turning 40 so well, but maybe you’d have settled into your 50’s and loved them. It’s hard to say. We’ll always wonder.
There are things I hate about this time of year. I somehow start counting down to the end. February was the end of the normalcy (though, for you and Dad, it had been abnormal for long time). In March, things were getting bad. In April, they got worse and in May it was all over. We talked, for real, for the last time in February. Four years ago.
This year I feel the countdown and the progression more acutely than I have in the past. I’m not sure way, but when February rolled around I felt this blargh feeling and I was suddenly going back to places I didn’t want to be. Asking questions I don’t want to ask and waiting for answers I’m just never going to get. Your birthday feels as though it’s waving a flag. “Look who’s missing!!”, it seems to say “Yoo-hoo! Look who doesn’t get any older even though another year has marched past!!”.
Littlebit knows you now. Some. “Gran is your Mama”, she says.
Thankfully, she hasn’t asked many questions about where you are, because I don’t know if I’m prepared yet to tell her where you are and why you aren’t here. I don’t want to open that door.
But, Happy Birthday. I’m glad for every minute. I just wish there had been more.