My mother would have turned sixty-six years old, today. I can’t even imagine.
I felt that loss, today, working its way from the back to the front of my brain. I miss that woman. More so, I miss what we could have had. At sixteen, there was a lot I didn’t appreciate or understand. It still hurts that I never will get to experience an adult relationship with my mother. I have changed so much. I feel that hurt on her birthday more than I did on Mother’s Day, more than I did on the anniversary of her death.
I don’t remember how we celebrated her last birthday.
Today I was shaky.
I still cannot smell lavender or roses without thinking of her. When I was very small, I would sit on the edge of her bed in the morning, watching as she finished getting ready for work. Earrings and scarf. A dab of perfume, flowers.
Much later, I sat on the edge of her hospital bed, showing her earrings I bought at a thrift store, telling her about my day.
Tonight, I smell like roses. Today I wore silver hoops in my ears.
love & peace, mum