Today would have been my mother’s 79th birthday.
Sometimes I still can’t believe that my father outlived my mother. He was 79 when he died.
It’s also hard to believe sometimes that just two years ago, I was celebrating her last birthday alive with her. I’m glad I made the trip, it’s not something I always did, but at least I did it when it counted the most.
After I passed the year mark of my mom’s death, it felt like a veil lifted. I’m more at peace now and less bombarded by flashbacks of her death and final months.
Today I will try to remember the good things: my mother’s corny but infectious sense of humor, that southern accent she never lost, her generous and kind spirit.
How do you mark the birthdays of those who are gone?