Happy birthday, mum
Today is a sad day because it would have been my mum's birthday. Today I won't be calling her to wish her happy birthday. I won't be hoping she doesn't call me first before I have time to - making me think she thought I'd forgotten. I won't be saying 'happy birthday, mum' and having her sigh and then laugh at her age.
I called my dad because I knew he would be having a hard day and he was - at first he was choking back tears - so I told him I knew how much I was thinking of mum today and for him it must be even harder. And of course, it is. Words are so shallow sometimes. He seems so lonely and he talked about how nice it was to have company around and I tried tentatively to talk about what ways had he considered to make that happen more often. But the conversation veers away every time.
Once my mum told me that flowers made her sneeze so I stopped sending them to her. In fact, I rarely sent her anything, not when they had a big anniversary, not for her birthday, not even for her 80th. They had so much. I would just call and send cards. But then after the funeral I felt bad because my dad said how much she had loved flowers - it shocked and saddened me because I would have sent many if I had known. I feel terrible about that.
Another thing I feel terrible about, since I'm on the topic. When I was at my parents' house I noticed photos of the family everywhere. I also noticed that in my mum's purse she carried wallet sized photos of everyone. Everyone except me. I was really sad at that and wondered where I was. Then I remembered how often she asked me for photos and I would always make excuses about how bad my photos were. She didn't have photos because I didn't send her any. My vanity meant she had no photos. How ridiculous.
Mum, here's a photo of you that I really like. You were like me, not many good photos but this time it went well - there you are smiling and laden down with cruise paraphenalia and looking forward to a lovely day on shore. Happy birthday, mum. I love you.