Friday, May 4, 2012
I am trying not to think about how I won't hear from my mother on my birthday this year and I am not being very successful.
I have stubbornly fought the gray, sad this week but right now, alone at home while in between doctor appointments, I can cry a little.
Two weeks ago the second anniversary of her death passed with little fanfare.
Part of me feels a little offended that there is no national holiday or parades with floats that support the Let's Eradicate Dumb, Stupid Gall Bladder Cancer Association.
Most of me wants to be at the beach listening to the waves whisper and the birds answer.
When I get a little richer I will make a pilgrimage each year to her favorite beach. I will sit alone on the sand and look for the dolphins that often play there. I will dig in the sand underneath the shells and flip them over with my big toe. Like she taught me.
I will watch each wave and remember that life goes on just like they do and I will cry a little and feel God's perfect peace.
My birthday will forever be missing something. The tabernacle choir that called me each year on Cinco de Mayo will never be the same and while I don't feel much like celebrating a friend reminded me that Mom loved my birthday so I plan to pull up my big girl britches and have a great day with most of the people I love the best.
I do not write about sad times or scary times for sympathy or attention.
I write about them for me.
I really despise the kid glove treatment and have an almost uncontrollable urge to throw something pointy at well intentioned people who tiptoe around me.
I much prefer some inappropriate humor or the way my boss-friend punches me in the shoulder and says-It'll be okay. Except the sore shoulder part. She hits hard!
I like how my gang knows to say things like-
I think you are sad and having a hard time. Do you want to talk about it or would you rather hit Mrs. Fabulous?
I don't know why she always flinches when they say that.