I was debating whether or not to write about my Mom today: this would have been her 59th birthday. It seems odd to write today and not write about it, but I don’t know what I want to say. I wrote about her — okay, looking like her — a few weeks ago, when I uploaded my 365days shot. I hadn’t planned on that, but I guess that is how it goes.
These kinds of days (holidays, the would-be birthdays) are so much easier than they were a few years ago. Then I couldn’t imagine eventually having it be another day, one where I might think about her or remember a particular story, but not have the wrenching sobbing stuff. Now, my hands ache because I spent too much time continuing to cut out little paper bits for my holiday cards, but otherwise I’m pretty comfortable. I took it easy, I’ve got my comfy pjs on. I know what today is, I’m aware of the happy birthday call I’m not making, the Christmas card I won’t send, the presents I’m not buying. But I’m still okay.
I can miss her (and some times that is still sharp enough to make me cry) and I can keep going.