Today would have been my mother’s 66th birthday. She died on July 24, 2007. She was 64 years old. Way too young to die. She should still be with us, enjoying her children and grandchildren. Enjoying retirement with her husband (who isn’t yet retired, but probably will be soon).
She has a granddaughter due in a few weeks. I wonder if she knows that wherever she is? I like to think that she does know, that maybe she’s even playing with Penelope as I type this. Maybe she’s getting her grandma time in before the child comes to us.
My mother and I had our ups and downs. Like most moms and daughters I suppose. It just seems that it was worse for me because it was happening to me. I wanted her to be the June Cleaver mother and she was never going to be that (even if her name is June).
I know this now, though. She loved me. Not in her own way. She just flat out loved me. And I loved her, too.
And I miss her. Every single day. But especially today.
Happy Birthday, Momma. I love you. I miss you. I hope you’re finally at peace and happy.