17 January 2014
today, she would have been 68. my mom would have been 68. two years ago today, she wore that little crown, blew that little party horn. I sent them in a package, gave her strict instructions, I made sure said instructions were followed. I couldn't be there to celebrate with her but I sent a box full of happy in my place. and I'm thankful that at least there was that. but oh to have hopped on a plane, to have been with her one last birthday.
today, I will buy her favorite flowers. listen to her favorite music, watch her favorite movies. I will wear her favorite silver dogwood ring, her favorite turquoise bracelets. I'll see her everywhere I look, in the shape of my hands, the color and texture of my skin, hear her in the way I speak, feel her in the way I stand at the kitchen sink, weight rested squarely in the left hip, right foot extended. I will see her light in the eyes of ezra and ava. there will be cake, there will be candles. I'll wear the crown she wore, blow the horn she blew that last birthday. then I'll slip them back into that soft yellow envelope, tuck it back into the suitcase that holds all the special things.
happy birthday, mom. I love you.