The last time I got to wish you a Happy Birthday was when you turned 67. In 2010. You would not live much longer.
But how much time is “much longer”? Well, for this particular scenario, it was less than 4 months. By that time, you were weak, unwilling to give in, and yet so desperate to just give over and go to Dad. I think you felt betwixt and between, and I think you know that I never quite knew where to sit on that spectrum.
I still don’t, and because life never lets you focus on just one thing at a time, I’m still feeling that feeling, just over other things.
Mum, you’d love this part. Where all the things that happened before, come back. Where all the things that went ahead, turn around. And where all the things that’d make you giggle in the passageway, have me giggling in the passageway.
I can’t wish you a Happy Birthday, but I can wish you present. I can’t get you cake, but I can eat it for you. I can’t toast to your health, but I can take care of my own. I can’t hug you, but I can hug my family. And in all the noise, soaked in sound, and all the quiet, soaked in silence, I can still hear you within my own voice.
Happy Birthday, Mum. I miss you forever.