…to my Mom’s birthday.
She would be 90 this Tuesday and it is rough.
We were mother and daughter and occasionally we were partners in crime back in the early days, but this month was the one bond we both had in common-DECEMBER. You see her birthday was the 18th, my nephew Gregory turns 23 on the 19th and I round it up on the 22nd.
I remember how I was watching Mom during one of last year’s hurricane threats and it had turned out that there was actually a tornado watch in the area. What was I going to do? Stay in a closet and watch Mom and her hospital bed get sucked out the window? I made up my mind, and despite whatever the level of the threat was, I sat on the kitchen chair that we kept by her bed and held her hand and talked to her in Polish. I remember thinking to myself that if I were to be hit by lightning or something else happening, it was appropriate, as I was holding the hand of the woman who brought me into this world. How fitting would it be if we left this world together. In short, I was as calm as could be because I was with Mom and knew whatever would happen, we were together.
I know how people always will tell you the first year is the hardest, and I can vouch for a fact that it is. If I can get through the birthday week, however, I’d like to think it’ll be ok. I know she’s with Dad and they are having the 1234 cake that she used to make, and it’ll be a good, heavenly birthday for her.
I just wish it didn’t hurt so much.