Happy Birthday, Momma.
You would’ve been 66 today. This is the second birthday since you died and it’s harder than the first. The finality of your death is oppressive like the July heat and I can’t seem to escape it.
I don’t imagine 66 means anything where you are, in fact, I’m sure it doesn’t cross your mind. I wish I could be there to remind you of me, and I guess that’s selfish, but I just want to say hi. I want to see what your face looks like now. I want to hug you and tell you I miss you. I don’t think you can feel sadness and I’m so glad. I feel enough for the both of us.
Sometimes, in my mind, it’s still October and I’m standing in that funeral home and I can see you and I remember every detail; the flowers, the people, the wood on your casket. Sometimes it’s just summer and I’m enjoying being outside more than I ever have in my life. And sometimes I’m just barely floating, operating on pure will, just trying to get through the day.
I miss you every single day. Not one day has gone by since October 24, 2017 that you haven’t crossed my mind, even if just for a second. There are big things and small things that I want to tell you, like about the flowers that I planted and have kept alive and my funny customers at work. I miss you texting me and asking me to pay your ‘foam bill’ because you thought it was hysterical that I really have customers that say ‘foam’ instead of phone. I miss our Friday nights and keeping you up too late watching sitcoms and talking. I miss that one summer that Chad worked a ton and Trevor and I spent the night several times. I just miss things being normal.
There’s a new normal now and most of the time that is okay. Even though I think of you often, I’m not always sad. I’m glad a lot. Glad for the 31 years I had you, glad that God chose you to be my Mom, and glad for the person you were because it made me the person that I am.
I wish I could celebrate with you today. 66 wasn’t too much to ask for, but here we are.
I had a piece of Food City cake for you. It was the good icing, of course.
I love you, forever.