Today my mom would have been 56 years old. (I just did the math and let me tell you it’s scary.)
She passed away when she was 44 and even then she didn’t feel like she was 44, to think that she would have been 56 is close to unbelievable. (It’s kind of surreal how thrown I am by how old she would have been even when she isn’t physically here anymore.) I think it’s just hard to picture someone getting older, especially when the last time you saw them they were way younger.
I wonder how we would’ve grown up together, how she would have handled my going away for college. I hope that we would be friends, but that she would always be mom first and friend second.
One of the things I remember from growing up is the fact that I don’t remember ever celebrating my mom’s birthday. I don’t know why this is, but since I noticed this I’ve tried to honor the day without making a huge deal of it because I feel like this is what she would have preferred.
This is where this Instagram picture + caption kicks in:
I brainstormed what the caption would be and how I would strike the perfect balance between staying relaxed and saying happy birthday in a way that felt right. I landed on sharing with the world a story that is very personal to me and that by default shows the kind of mom/woman my mom was.
So, I’ll end this post by repeating her advice in a simpler way — everyone gets angry, but you have to remember that when you are upset the only person who has to figure out how to make you get happy is you.
