She'd have been 91 today.
I'd have brought her a chocolate cake, and chocolate ice cream, and chocolate syrup. I'd have brought the hats and the blowers we used at the party last year and decorated with balloons and streamers.
It's a party I'm so glad that I hosted.
Looking at this picture, I am reminded of how fast and how far she failed over the last ten months of her life. In the moment, at the party, she commented, over and over, that she didn't feel like 90... that 90 was old... that she was old... but that she was here and even if she didn't know where she was or why she was there, it looked like she was having a good time.
My friends, the only people who could be invited to the event, still laugh about her confused look followed by What am I doing here?
It must be a party.
There's cake.
And what the hell is on my head?
It was moments like that that kept me sane. That was my mother, wondering why a paper tiara was annoying her ears but making connections from the clues around her.
If you're here, it must be okay.
Knowing that my presence made a difference made it possible to visit. Leaving was never easy, but she left the guilt behind when she moved from New Jersey. My I'll see you tomorrow was answered by I hope so, at the end. She knew she was leaving us, taking her own sweet time to do so.
Her spirit flew over Little Cuter's house and saw the bun in the oven. She felt free to shed this mortal coil, knowing the next generation was on its way. I know it's true. I feel it in that place where truths reside.
I've found a place to put the sorrow. The loss still nags, especially as I drive past the pod castle. I'm still tempted to stop in and say hello to her... only she's not there.... and I sigh. I don't wish that she were still here; her last months were described in the death certificate as failure to thrive and there's no reason to revisit that scene.
But, there are those moments, like today, when I'd like to be in Hallmark, buying a gigantic birthday card filled with love and hearts and flowers, collecting chocolate, reminding the grandkids to send an email, getting ready for her big day.
I hope somebody brought her a prune danish for breakfast. It's heaven, after all. There must be prune danish in heaven.
Looking at this picture, I am reminded of how fast and how far she failed over the last ten months of her life. In the moment, at the party, she commented, over and over, that she didn't feel like 90... that 90 was old... that she was old... but that she was here and even if she didn't know where she was or why she was there, it looked like she was having a good time.
It must be a party.
There's cake.
And what the hell is on my head?
It was moments like that that kept me sane. That was my mother, wondering why a paper tiara was annoying her ears but making connections from the clues around her.
If you're here, it must be okay.
Knowing that my presence made a difference made it possible to visit. Leaving was never easy, but she left the guilt behind when she moved from New Jersey. My I'll see you tomorrow was answered by I hope so, at the end. She knew she was leaving us, taking her own sweet time to do so.
Her spirit flew over Little Cuter's house and saw the bun in the oven. She felt free to shed this mortal coil, knowing the next generation was on its way. I know it's true. I feel it in that place where truths reside.
I've found a place to put the sorrow. The loss still nags, especially as I drive past the pod castle. I'm still tempted to stop in and say hello to her... only she's not there.... and I sigh. I don't wish that she were still here; her last months were described in the death certificate as failure to thrive and there's no reason to revisit that scene.
But, there are those moments, like today, when I'd like to be in Hallmark, buying a gigantic birthday card filled with love and hearts and flowers, collecting chocolate, reminding the grandkids to send an email, getting ready for her big day.
I hope somebody brought her a prune danish for breakfast. It's heaven, after all. There must be prune danish in heaven.
Happy birthday G'ma! I bet she's living it up. I love the thought of her looking over Little Cuter and knowing Flapjack is on the way. I actually smiled reading this post. I know you miss your mom, but you can feel comforted that she's happy.
ReplyDeleteSending lots of hugs!
Megan xxx