Today would be Mom’s birthday.
It’s always been easy to remember, since it falls on or around the first day of spring. I always felt there was something poetic about a Mom (bringer of life) having a birthday on the first day of the season renowned for representing the “rebirth” of life each year.
Over the time I’ve been on Facebook, I have seen hundreds (thousands?) of posts speaking to loved ones lost and “looking down from above”. I’m not a terribly religious man. I am a sentimental one, though.
This year marks the tenth year since Mom fell to cancer. There’s no gravesite to visit, as Mom preferred her ashes spread across her beloved Florida Keys. I don’t light a candle, sit vigil or any of a plethora of maudlin practices in “honor” of her death. I would much rather honor her life, if not her living.
I carry memories of Mom with me forever. I practice lessons taught by Mom every day. The last thing she would want and I allow is for me to wallow in sadness that she is no longer around.
She’s around in my laughter. She’s around in my holding car doors open for females. She’s around in me wiping my feet when I enter someplace. She’s around when I cook and when I clean (no matter how long I take to get to it). She’s in my genes and in my thoughts.
I don’t need to take a special time to remember my Mom since she’s been gone because she has never been gone from my heart. Would I enjoy her still being alive? Of course. Do I wish she was still alive? Nope, I don’t wish for impossible things.
Because that’s not what Mom taught me. She worked hard for the things she wanted, cared deeply for the things that mattered to her and if something impossible had ever happened, she would have been happy to appreciate its unexpected arrival.
It’s fitting, then, that on a day that celebrates life’s renewal, I spend no time remembering Mom’s passing. I’m way too busy cherishing her living.