~I should have smiled in that picture, if it's the last thing i see of you.
Five days from now my mother will be 54 years old.
54.
On my mother's 54th birthday, I have nothing to give her. No, I have nothing to give her. No worthy news, no wrapped presents, no candles to blow on a cake.
On my mother's 54th birthday, I do not think I would even see her. Of course, I would call her and tell her sincerely how much I miss her and that I ache for her--whoever she has turned out to be, whoever the person she is now. I ache for her and surely my heart shrinks a centimeter each time I think about this birthday.
On my mother's 54th birthday, I will smile. I will smile and take a picture of myself. I will smile because I did not smile on her birthday picture last year. I did not smile because I intended to make ugly faces and I believed I did not look good that day. This year, I would smile without her and I would over-use the word SMILE because I deeply deeply regret not showing how truly happy and blessed I am to be her daughter.
And to take John Mayer out of context, ~"I should have smiled in that picture, if it's the last thing I see of you." Yes, that was taken during her birthday lunch at home. yes, I am the one making faces.
Last year (a month and some days after her birthday), my mother suffered her second (almost fatal) stroke. I could not measure in words what it means that "she has never been the same." It is almost a year after the sad incident of her stroke, but our family has never fully recovered. My mother has not fully recovered.
On her birthday, even if you are an atheist, please say a silent prayer for my mother. I want you to pray for her simple happiness because this year is special. She is 54 years old and sometimes acts as if she were 4.
Hello, I am Alexandra. If I talk about myself, I need to tell you about my mother. I need to tell you--not because I want to impose baggage on you-- but because I will never be the way I am if not for her. And because I need more prayers for her birthday.
54.
On my mother's 54th birthday, I have nothing to give her. No, I have nothing to give her. No worthy news, no wrapped presents, no candles to blow on a cake.
On my mother's 54th birthday, I do not think I would even see her. Of course, I would call her and tell her sincerely how much I miss her and that I ache for her--whoever she has turned out to be, whoever the person she is now. I ache for her and surely my heart shrinks a centimeter each time I think about this birthday.
On my mother's 54th birthday, I will smile. I will smile and take a picture of myself. I will smile because I did not smile on her birthday picture last year. I did not smile because I intended to make ugly faces and I believed I did not look good that day. This year, I would smile without her and I would over-use the word SMILE because I deeply deeply regret not showing how truly happy and blessed I am to be her daughter.
And to take John Mayer out of context, ~"I should have smiled in that picture, if it's the last thing I see of you." Yes, that was taken during her birthday lunch at home. yes, I am the one making faces.
Last year (a month and some days after her birthday), my mother suffered her second (almost fatal) stroke. I could not measure in words what it means that "she has never been the same." It is almost a year after the sad incident of her stroke, but our family has never fully recovered. My mother has not fully recovered.
On her birthday, even if you are an atheist, please say a silent prayer for my mother. I want you to pray for her simple happiness because this year is special. She is 54 years old and sometimes acts as if she were 4.
Hello, I am Alexandra. If I talk about myself, I need to tell you about my mother. I need to tell you--not because I want to impose baggage on you-- but because I will never be the way I am if not for her. And because I need more prayers for her birthday.