“When someone asks you where you come from, the answer is your mother. . . When your mother’s gone, you’ve lost your past. It’s so much more than love. Even when there’s no love, it’s so much more than anything else in your life. I did love my mother, but I didn’t know how much until she was gone.”
~ Anna Quindlen, One True Thing
My mom would be celebrating her 88th birthday today. Thirty-two years ago, at age 55, she died suddenly and unexpectedly.
I can’t even remotely imagine her as an older woman. I can barely remember what it felt like to be a daughter. I’ve been older than she ever was for a few years now.
I wish we had taken more photos. I wish I had asked her more questions. I wish I had listened to her more. I wish I had spent more time with her.
Mostly, I just wish she was still here.
I wish I could go to her house and have a cup of tea, and maybe a matrimonial square. I wish I could tell her the latest news about her grandchildren—and her great-granddaughter.
As the years go by and her never-reached age increases I think about what it might be like if mom was still alive. Perhaps her health would be failing by now. In some ways, that makes her absence easier to weather but it doesn’t take away the grief for all those lost years.
Happy Birthday, Mom. Sure miss you. Still. Always.