Today is mother's birthday... She would have been 71 years old.
That's hard for me to imagine.
She was young and vibrant... even at 56 (the age she was when she died.)
Sometimes it is hard to believe that was 15 years ago...
I tried not to think about it too much today... It makes me sad, not just because she is gone, but because I hate that she is missing out on everything now... especially her grandchildren.
I saw this poem and it perfectly describes how I carry my mother with me everywhere I go.
and then my brother posted this on FB...
The moon, a day past half full, but rising, a friend and I outside, a table of teak and festive Spanish tile beneath the whisper of trees wrapped in twinkling lights, a refreshingly cool night, amid a pleasant clatter and chatter of those around us with their glasses and plates half consumed, ice melting in our own margaritas, deciding slowly ourselves what to eat, amid easy conversation, the waiter back twice to check, finally served, and the moment makes me think of you, perhaps out of something, or out of nothing, uneasily, from a dinner unfolding now, to so long ago, and the present convivial conversation goes on floating above the memories so far below, the idea of your birthday, gone uncelebrated since a decade and a half ago, but the wind catches my napkin and your memory, and the distraction carries you away, again.
Yes, my mother was a writer... she passed that down to her children.
I love and miss her daily.