Happy Birthday, Mom.
Dear Mom,
Today would have been your fifty-seventh birthday. I’m sure if you were still alive, you would psychically know I just announced how old you were to all the Intarwebz, and you would make a mental note to yell at me the next time you see me for such a heinous transgression. You would insist on doing all the cooking yourself (oh, how I am your daughter that way!) There would be an enormous cheesecake with a range of fresh strawberries atop it, and no gathering would be complete without your not-quite-flourless chocolate cake. You always lied, but I have gazed upon the now lost-forever recipe and there are two whole tablespoons of flour in it… You would manage to look amazing, without looking like you worked at it.
I didn’t get around to making the MOM-orial website. I’ve made some headway on it, and I’m still collecting stories, but I have been busy. I think you’d probably love that I’m taking classes on politics, public policy and how to become a more effective agitator. You’d be amused that I wanted to go back to school, even though when I was there, I wanted to think about everything, anything else. I think you would have been fascinated by programs like Painter, Illustrator and Photoshop, but would stick to your brushes and paints. I like to think you’d demand a nest AND a website of your own, and you’d be secretly glad I found creative outlets more lucrative and less excruciating than musical theatre.
I know you’d fall in love with our house, but would be appalled that we keep it so cluttered; that the dishwasher wasn’t magically empty any time we cooked, that the cat box is not kept spotless at every waking moment, that our windows are often smeared with puppy snot and spit. You would vacuum the house in its entirety at least twice a day until you left, and I would laugh and tell you that with five animals, it will look exactly the same in six hours. You would be amazed at Jack’s transformation into a friendly cat, Mau’s transformation into a very soft triangle, and would love the dogs and Duck.
You would love Matthew. Everything else here is speculation, but I know this.
You would be disappointed I still wear clunky glasses, and that I regularly leave the house without a smear of makeup. I’m more comfortable now in ringer tees and jeans than I am in gypsy regalia. You would probably buy me painful little ankle boots, silk broomstick skirts, and frock coats. You would probably be horrified at my weight gain, and maybe even outright tell me I’m not as pretty as I used to be. I would laugh to cover the sting, and tell you that Ten Thousand Times over, I would choose happiness over skinniness. It would even be the truth, and you would try and understand. You were not a perfect mother, and I know no one is a perfect anything. You had a true gift when dealing with people and animals alike. I wish I could have seen the evolution of your art. You were stunning, articulate, questioning, fierce, generous funny, and vibrant.
A lot has happened in ten years. Sometimes you feel so near, I have a sudden impulse to call you, and the reality of your death knocks the wind out of me. Other days, I feel removed enough that the bulk of my life seems like a dream. I don’t think I really understood what living was about until I watched you die.
You were a force of nature, and I still miss you.
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