Today is Mom’s birthday. She would be 68 -- a very young 68. I wish I could be happy and simply celebrate her life today, but I can’t. The continued turmoil connected with settling her paltry estate, all caused by two very selfish people, have made that impossible. Nevertheless, my love for her is as great as it ever was, and I choose to remember her on this special day and concentrate on the joys of our relationship.
If Mom were here, I’d be with her already, taking her to the beach or to lunch. Maybe we’d go to the mall and buy her a new outfit. Maybe we’d just go lie in the sun. It wouldn’t matter because we’d be together and that would be enough. It always was. Her birthday was an occasion, but so was any day we hopped in the car together. Even if we just went to the Huddle House, it was a little mini-event because Mom made it that way, just by virtue of her vivacious personality. Those fun days we spent together were too few, too infrequent; I wish I had done more of those things with her. I suppose everyone has that sort of regrets.
I’m sad that I don’t get to celebrate her birthday with her. On the other hand, if you celebrate birthdays in Heaven, she’s having a great one. Happy Birthday, Mama. I love you!
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