Heavenly Birthdays

Labor Day weekend was always Moms weekend in my family. My mommas birthday always fell right on or around Labor Day. It always seemed to include fried chicken, moms famous potato and/or tuna salad, cake(most definitely cake), and most importantly, her family. Mom always held us together, us kids couldn’t hate each other long when mom was around. It didn’t matter where we were in our lives and what level of sibling rivalry we were in, when mom had a gathering, we gathered. This is the fourth birthday without her, fourth Labor Day weekend since she passed. I’ll tell you, we haven’t had a gathering like the old ones since. It’s just another thing in my life that’s broken into two parts, with mom and without. I don’t know if the without will ever feel whole again.
Now we’ve been together on her birthday, we all always celebrate her. Cakes, balloons, recreating her best dinners, we always do something. The weekend just doesn’t hold the same feeling, a long weekend that seems to drag on instead of fly by. This year mom would have been 63, it seems so young to me now. Not so long ago 63 seemed ages away, now I couldn’t imagine not reaching that age. Mom was always so vibrant and full of love. Not having her never seemed like an option. I undoubtedly took having her for granted, a mistake I’ll never make again. Sometimes our lessons are easy and sometimes they come by losing more than we ever thought we could. I swore when I lost her, her life would never be in vain, I would live everyday honoring the life she worked so hard to give me. I believe I have, I know she is proud. But, like some other milestone days, her birthday always leaves me weak in the knees and feeling like I can’t breathe.
Heavenly birthdays. I don’t think they ever get easier, I don’t know that they are supposed to. These days remind us of what we lost, true, but they also remind us of what we had. With great love comes great pain and I would never trade the love to ease the pain. The first year I don’t remember much, I zombied my way right through it. The second and the third were much the same, always a plan to honor her, but not much before or after those times. This year I chose to do something different. For those that know me, know I am writing this blog, have this website, and share my gift, in large part because of her. This year I chose to be available for readings, in person. It was a hard day, one of random tears and random laughs. For the first time in 4 birthdays I thought of her and cried, thought of her and laughed, and in some cases, both. I walked around with her flannel shirt tied around my waist and I brought her up to everyone I could. For the first time I felt more joy for having known her than I did pain for having lost her.
My mom was one of a kind, I never understood who she truly was until she was gone, all I knew is I loved her. Once I became an adult, mom became my friend, my confidant, and when I had children, my lifeline. She was sweet, loving, blunt, and flighty. She loved to sing or hum, was a puzzle game master, a scratch ticket addict, and a collector of all the things. She loved and spoiled all her grandchildren, truly knowing each one for exactly who they are, and never expecting anything else. She had three children that quickly became six. Our spouses were never in-laws, she loved them as her own and they loved her the same. Losing her irrevocably shattered our universe, but knowing her and loving her undoubtedly gave us the strength to survive that. She is the ultimate example for me that there is no joy without suffering, no life without loss. It’s never an easy lesson to learn, but one I’m eternally grateful I learned from her.
If you are reading this and have heavenly birthdays to endure, I see you. I understand. I won’t tell you it gets better, I won’t tell you they’re in a better place. I won’t say that time heals all wounds, or that it’s time to move on. What I will tell you is this, it’s ok to not be ok. It’s ok for one year to be worst than the last then better than the last, and back again. There is no timeline, no rhyme or reason, no right way to proceed. All that’s important is that you embrace the loss and be grateful for the love. I know in a very personal way that our loved ones are with us and at peace. They are just fine, but we aren’t always fine. That’s absolutely ok. Don’t lose the memories, the life, because of the loss. Let having the honor of knowing them always outweigh the pain of losing them. Let the love you can experience, love you choose to share, always be worth more than the end. Whether in death or new beginnings, every ending sucks, it’s up to us to make the love bigger than the end. Continue celebrating their life, in whatever way makes you feel complete. Cry, laugh, sleep, rage, own it all. Just remember the love is worth the pain.

This blog is for my mother, Sharon. I’m so grateful for the life you created for me, for the signs and messages you give me, and for the love you unconditionally gave me. I love you more.