Dear Mom: It's Your Birthday


Dear Mom,

This is the first January 7th where I will not speak with you.  Where I will not call you on the phone.  Where I will not come down to visit you.

This the first January 7th where your birthday falls on a weekend and the weather isn't wretched, so that I COULD come down and see you.  But you're not there.  That's sad.  That's weird.  That's unfair.

In 2022 we all came to celebrate your birthday weeks after the fact.  I can't remember why it took so long.   We were over Covid by your birthday.  The three of us came down and celebrated, bringing you one of your favorites:  bagels, cream cheese and lox.  It was the last time you would really enjoy it.  (When I tried again around Easter, you were so sick that you could barely eat anything.)  

I went alone to the shore today.  Your grandson is at rehearsal.  I know you would be proud of him, having one of the leading roles in one of YOUR favorite musicals, "Hello Dolly!"  You told me, and I’m sure you told him as well, how you saw the original production, had orchestra seats and were blown away when Carol Channing walked out on the runway in full regalia.  I will think of you each time I see the show.  (And I will see the show 4 times because I will NOT miss a single performance of his final show in high school.)

I wish I was bringing bagels.  Or at least picking up one of your favorite soups (chicken corn chowder) at the local Wawa.  (Although it wasn't available today at "my" Wawa.  Would you have made due with chicken noodle?)  I wish I could see you sitting on the sofa in the living room. 


I wish you were sitting there smiling, as I try to remember.  (And brush away the memories of you being so miserable sitting there the last few times I visited.)  I wish we could sit there and talk and watch the "divey" duck as it popped under the lagoon water and then came up minutes (?) later in a different spot. (There were no "divey" ducks today...although I did see some mallards.)

It was strange to be there on this day without you.  The house does not have your soul anymore.  There was something about it when you were there.  While your memory IS still there, there is a missing piece (or pieces) and it's not just that I've donated almost all of your clothes and much (but not all) of your belongings.  It might be partially because M, the caregiver, has put her own stamp on it.  Areas that were uniquely you are no longer just that.  That's not right or wrong, but it is just different.

I spent my time down there trying to help dad with some little things that needed to be done.  (Including getting the copier to print out the way we needed it to.)  I had lunch with dad.  I brought my homemade soup (the leftover Christmas ham never goes to waste) and he had his standard peanut butter and jelly.  I know he is in pain and I wish there was something that could be done about that.  I wish that the last 9 (or so) months of your life were not so difficult and painful.  I wish I could have done something; changed something, but...

Before I left I did check out the ocean on your behalf.  Not at the 7th Avenue beach where we spent most of our time, but at 2nd Avenue, where Uncle Harold would have taken us when I was little.  The tide was relatively low and there were people walking the beach.  I wish WE could walk on the beach.  I wish we could just sit on the beach like we once did.

I am not the only one who misses you on this day.  Your grandson let me know that he intended to go to the cemetery.  By the time I got home, he'd been and then gone back out again.  (The joys of "having" the car that once belonged to you and still carries your personalized license plates.)  My husband says he's a little "off" today.  I've come to realize that I will always be so wrapped up in my own (selfish) grief and thoughts that I rarely am aware of the pain that others are still grappling with.  That is something I need to work on.

There is a hole; a missing piece, this January 7th.  But the sun is starting to set and, as we must, we move forward.  Forward without your physical presence, but still (and always) holding you in our hearts.

Love,

Me


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

We Have Taken America Back

Image
Back to a time when all men (and women) are not created equal.  Where women's healthcare is determined by men's laws and not by medical professionals. Where education tells only the "winning" side of the story and truth does not matter.  Where banning and burning books is a social event.  Where people who are "different" than those in power can be mocked, shunned and hurt with no real consequences. Where lies are acceptable and integrity is  just a word on a page We have moved into a time where rage is the rage.  Where hate is not just normal, but accepted and even cheered. Where leaders can ask to have their "enemies" killed and no one will bat an eye.  Where it's "funny" to see someone struggle.  Where felony is applauded. Where compassion is not shown and caring for others is looked down upon. We have taken America back to a time of pain and suffering for many.  Back to when the "haves" can have and the have nots don'...
Read more

It's Not About Starbucks (or is it)?

Image
  About a block and a half from my home in a major intersection.  At the southeast corner (which is nearest to me), is an empty building.  Back in 1995 it was a Bank of NY (I remember this because they didn't shovel/de-ice their parking lot well and my husband fell and broke his ankle one Monday morning.  I recall this clearly because we were not yet married and it was the first day of a new job for me.  I had gotten on the bus to work and he was catching a later one; only he never got there.  Instead he ended up laying on the ground until an employee came to open up the bank.  Then he had them call an ambulance AND my mother who took control of the situation until I arrived home that night blissfully unaware of what had happened that day.)  It eventually became a Chase Bank; the second one in my small little town.  It eventually closed.  I'm not sure when but it's been empty for quite a long time.  (I do know that it was open in 20...
Read more

As Is

Image
  Today I want to discuss what I think it is a relatively simple concept, but may be difficult for some, even an attorney who might have once, over a decade ago won a  prestigious award  for young lawyers .  That term is "AS IS." As you may know, I volunteer in a thrift shop.  Everything we sell, from all the donations we receive, is "as is."  The items are not brand new.  They are not perfect.  That doesn't mean they aren't any good or worth something. They are sold "as is."  Buyers should go in knowing that. (After all you are shopping in a thrift shop!)  In some cases, particularly when we are offering higher end products, we will actually write on the price tag, "as is." Such is the case of two designer purses that I purchased from there this summer.  (I'm a purse-aholic!  Don't look in my closet.)  They were reasonably priced (especially when you consider the name brand), but each had an "as is" clearly marked o...
Read more