Mom's birthday
Today would have been my mother's sixty-second birthday, the first pass of her birthday since she died.
I don't really know what to say about it, except that I'm thinking about her. Even more than usual. I'm sure everyone has noticed how much I talk about her. Maybe I do it too much, maybe people don't want to hear about it. But I like to talk about her. I just loved and admired her so much, the loss of her gapes, and it helps me feel like she's a little less missing from my life.
I'm a little surprised to think she's been gone almost a year. It doesn't feel that long. I remember her last birthday. It was pretty much the last time she left the house. We took her to Bolete, one of the nicest French country restaurants in America. We had a nice time all together, but she couldn't eat much. She was so sick then. She stopped treatment less than a week later. Two months later she was dead.
My family aren't really birthday people. But at least they mean you're getting older.
I don't really know what to say about it, except that I'm thinking about her. Even more than usual. I'm sure everyone has noticed how much I talk about her. Maybe I do it too much, maybe people don't want to hear about it. But I like to talk about her. I just loved and admired her so much, the loss of her gapes, and it helps me feel like she's a little less missing from my life.
I'm a little surprised to think she's been gone almost a year. It doesn't feel that long. I remember her last birthday. It was pretty much the last time she left the house. We took her to Bolete, one of the nicest French country restaurants in America. We had a nice time all together, but she couldn't eat much. She was so sick then. She stopped treatment less than a week later. Two months later she was dead.
My family aren't really birthday people. But at least they mean you're getting older.