It’s been quite some time since I wrote anything original in this blog, and I thought today might be a good day to resume that practice.
Today would have been my mother’s 70th birthday. It has now been a little more than seven months since she died. First, I can’t believe that much time has elapsed already. Second, only recently has the idea of her being gone become any less surreal to me–and only slightly so. Today, I’ve caught myself a few times thinking that I can’t forget to call her for her birthday.
This morning, it occurred to me that one of the things that I miss most about my mom is making her laugh. She and I did not share much in common in the way of our senses of humor, but there was still the occasional overlap. I can still see her face–and her eyes brighten–when she would start to laugh about something. And, of course, I can still hear her laugh, too. I’m a self-admitted comedian-wannabe–I love to make people laugh. But there was something about making my mother laugh–perhaps the challenge of it–that made it so appealing for me.
One July 29th a few years ago, my wife suggested that we head up to the Chicago area for a surprise unannounced visit for my mom’s birthday. My mother was never particularly fond of unexpected guests–only because it didn’t allow her the requisite time to tidy up the already clean house. But after consulting with my father in secret, we decided to make the trip anyway, in spite of all that. She happened to be in the backyard watering her garden when we arrived, so we were able to really surprise her by coming around the side of the house. I’ll never forget the unique mix of disbelief and excitement on her face when she first saw us. I could almost see her brain working away trying to process what she was seeing–since the notion of me and my family making an unannounced visit after driving 2 1/2 hours was most likely a concept completely foreign to her up until that point. After welcoming us with her trademark “rough hugs” and kisses, she launched into her customary litany of pleas that we ignore the imagined messiness of her house–before proceeding to force food on us in her typical hospitable fashion.
Looking back now, I’m pleased that we did that for her–in spite of her anticipated objections. It was good for her, I think, to get a surprise like that now and then. Especially because she preferred things to be so predictable.
Earlier today, I found myself contemplating the significance of birthdays after someone has passed away. Not for those left behind, but for the deceased–assuming, of course, that there is an afterlife of some sort, and we retain some sense of self or consciousness in that afterlife. And I wonder what significance the anniversary of one’s earthly birth has once a soul has “moved on”. I, of course, don’t have an answer to this, but I still think it merits contemplation.
Regardless… I hope today my mother–however she exists now in whatever afterlife there is–finds cause to celebrate today in some manner. And on this first of many of her birthdays without her, I hope she knows that she is remembered and missed.