Happy Birthday Blues

Happy Birthday, Mom!!! You are the best mom ever!

L-Loving
A- Always real
I – Intuitive and generous
L – Likes tea and cookies
A- Acts cute and small but is unbelievably courageous and strong

Thank you for being my mother, father, friend and one of the most amazing teachers, especially when it comes to matters of the heart, I have ever had. Love you Mom! #MomsTheWorld #BestMoms #ILoveMyMom

mom birthday

Dear Mom,

I wrote that message above, on my Facebook status, exactly three years ago.  It was March 16th, 2014. Your birthday of course.

Facebook often sends these ‘memories’, of messages we post in the past, to remind us of what we saw as important to us and what we were thinking years ago. Maybe to even make us see the change in us?

But I am in shock over how much has changed since then. It was only three measly years ago. But back then, I had EVERYTHING, and I didn’t even realize it.  I had everything, because I had you. And I had no idea that that was going to be the last of your birthdays I was ever going to spend with you.  I had no idea that one, or two, or now three years since then, I would never be able to wish you a happy birthday in person again.

That fills me with tears and heartache and sorrow so deep that I feel ashamed of having taken life especially life with you, for granted. I wish I could have those moments back that I didn’t realize would be gone forever. I wish I could be feeding you cake right now the way you used to to us when we were younger.

memories tears

Mom, where did the time go?  Why did it happen the way it did? Without any warning, without any signs, or maybe it was more that there were signs but it was without any awareness, on my part.  I should have listened and noticed and helped more.  I should have made it obvious that you were my number one priority, because that’s how I felt inside. I just know I didn’t show it enough.

You are still my number one, Mom.  I made sure to wish you a happy birthday at exactly 12am last night, like you did on the last birthday of mine that you were around for.  And I am really trying to honour you by holding my head up high and doing things to make you proud of me, to have you know that I am not going to have this life you gave me to me go to waste.  And that I am so proud to have had (or can I still say just ‘have’?) you as a mother.  I want this day of yours- what would have been your 79th birthday- to be celebrated and cherished because your life and love and presence in this world deserves to be celebrated an cherished.

But it’s hard mom.  I’m sad.  More sad than I ever thought I could be.  How strange it is to be so grateful for having a mom like you, for being able to spend all the years that I did with you, and for having the sweetest memories of you in my heart. But to also have so much pain from it- knowing that you are no here anymore.  I know I shouldn’t say it like that.  I know I need to believe you are here, just in another way.  But you know what I mean. You went through it too with Mama.  It’s crushing to our hearts when our Mothers are not here for us to hold hands with or see smiling or hear their voices say our name.  No one else says it like you.  me and mom

I would do anything to hear you tell me to remember to eat, or to put my coat on, or to ask me a hundred times if I want more food, even when I was full, the way you used to.

I texted you today, Mom. I texted you at your old phone number. The message said, Happy Birthday, Mommy. And then there was a teary face, a pink heart with two stars shining on it, and a birthday cake with three candles on it -imogee symbols I chose to put next to the text.  I just wanted to send you a message somehow.  Not through the air or in my head. But in some real way like I might have in the past.  I don’t know if anyone else has that number now. I don’t know where the text went if it did go anywhere.  But I haven’t deleted your number off of my phone. I just don’t have the heart to.  Maybe I never will.

I also posted a cover photo on my Facebook page that says Happy Birthday, Mom on it- with a cupcake and one candle. One candle for my number one- my Mom. You will always be my number one Mom.  Don’t you ever doubt that. And my profile picture is a photo of that Generation to Generation frame I had given you- that you put up in entrance in your apartment. Now it’s on my kitchen wall.

I went to Shoppers the other day, and bought this teddy bear and chocolates. Sorry,  I ate the chocolates pretty quick. But if you were here, I would have given them to you.  The teddy bear and an old Christmas snowglobe I found at Shoppers as well is also for you.  Thank you for all the sweetest little gifts you used to buy me from there as well (that’s the shawl you used to wear almost every day- behind the cushion and the teddy bear).

teddy bear

It’s sad that even those memories are tainted now.  Shoppers was one of our favorites- because really, it was one of your favorite places to pick up cutesy things. But it was also the last place you went to, ever, before you were gone. And I associate it with that sad ache of imagining you walking home from there and falling at the end of your walk.  And it kills me to think and know I wasn’t there for you.

So much happiness- birthdays, chocolates, teddy bears, shopping, laughing, cake, smiles and love- mixed with so much sadness- death, falls, pain, emptiness, tears and heartache.

I don’t know what to do with it all, Mom.  All I can do is take one day at a time, and live in it and face it- sometimes crying, sometimes smiling.  All I can do is be honest with my feelings and stay as authentic as you made me.

All I can do is be grateful for this day- your birthday. The day that the best thing that ever happened to me came into this world- my mother.  All I can do is to know I was lucky enough to spend all the birthdays that I did have with you.

I just wish you had more. I wish that now, birthdays in heaven are truly blissful and full of peace and love for you. No pain, no fear, no suffering. Not even a hint of it. Just a truly HAPPY birthday, with lots of cake – your favorite kind that you made all the time (buy maybe now you and Mama can make it together again and SHE can feed you a piece? :-)).

And lots of warm, soothing chai, and endless peace. That is my birthday wish for you. That you are full of peace, love joy and wrapped in your mother’s loving arms.  I know that’s where I wish I was right now.  But in the meantime, I will live this life the best I can to honour  my angel mother.

Happy Birthday, Mom. Sorry for the tears. But I just miss you terribly.

Hot Water Bottles and Other Stuff

hot-water-bottleDear Mom,

I am at home but I feel really cold. Maybe it’s my low iron again, or just that the temperatures have dropped a lot outside over the past few days. Or probably I just take after you. We both tended to get cold quickly.  I even have your plaid shawl around me- the heavy one I bought for you years ago, and a blanket on my lap.  But… .I still can’t seem to warm up.

So… I finally made use of your hot water bottle. Well, actually, if I remember correctly, maybe you bought it for me many years ago? And then I kept it in my kitchen or closet and didn’t make use of it. Remember the one with the tartan kind of fleecy cover on it?  I think that I ended up giving it back to you a couple of years ago? I don’t know. I’ve lost track of time and memories.

Either way, I know that you bought it for either you or me.  And you LOVED hot water bottles. They definitely make me think of you.  That should be all the more reason for me to make use of this one, right?  I am sorry to say that it’s actually  exactly what made it really hard for me to pull it out of my kitchen cabinet.

It’s just not the same without you.  Hot water bottles, Vix Vapo Rub, Dimatap, they are all full of memories of you.  Or they fill me with feelings about you.  All the best, most nurturing kind.   Same with cold compresses on foreheads, or just your hand on a forehead, or you massaging any legs that were near you- whether they were mine, your son’s or your granddaughters’.  Your soft and warm touch would always make us feel better without even us realizing it right away.   So calming and soothing and full of love.  Everything you did was out of love.

That’s why it has taken me over a year to pull out that hot water bottle, and just as I should have suspected, it doesn’t really seem to work. Sure, there is some warmth coming from it but it’s short lived and not at all the same.  Something is missing.  It wasn’t actually the hot water bottle that was warming me, was it?  It was you.

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They say that it takes time, but I think they are wrong.  Still nothing is the same without you.  And it feels words each day instead of better because at the same time I find it hard to face the memories, I am equally afraid to forget them.

I went to Save On Foods today- the one in North Vancouver we always went to.  It feels like every aisle conjures up another memory of you for me.  The pharmacy where we’d get your prescriptions filled, the wall shelf that housed the high in calcium (but low in sugar) energy drinks we’d get you, the cosmetics area where you’d buy the same shampoo in the thin green bottles.  Or and new bottle of hairspray.  God, I miss watching you spurt some hairspray over your head to add some body to the top.

And of course, the one percent milk and ,multi grain bread you’d know exactly where to find. Oh, and bananas, and sometimes mangoes.  We could never leave the grocery store without bananas. You loved bananas.  And I think you loved buying mangoes for me, and to remind you of Mama.

As I write these memories down now, a part of me smiles for a few seconds. I genuinely feel some of those moments so deeply embedded in my heart and mind, that they seem impossible to forget. But the thought that I will never have them again, the actual experiences with you, overwhelms this same heart with more sadness than I ever thought I could feel.  There is a searching that I go through every time I am somewhere that you and I frequented often together.  Like when I am in some of those favorite places of yours.

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It’s like I am looking through the aisles for you.  Searching for you.  But then I remember that you’re gone.  Maybe I find bits and pieces to hold onto, because of the sweet smells as I walk by the fruit section, or when I pass by the white basmati rice, but there are also holes and emptiness that must make me appear so lost.

For a moment, as I am walking back to your car in the parking lot, I remember that I will never have your rice or see you get excited about cooking samosas again. And I know that nothing can ever replace that.

So as I hug this hot water bottle tighter to my chest, to try to feel you closer to me,  I realize I cannot magically squeeze my mother’s warmth and love out of it, or through it.  And I just watch as my tears fall down onto its tartan cover. It is the same hot water bottle, but nothing feels the same as it used to be.