I didn’t even give you a present last year because I was too busy taking care of you, of the house, our lives and myself. Do I regret it? Not really. I’ve never believed in material presents. While it is nice to get them, what do they really say? – “Here, I tried to come up with something so you feel worthy to me.” That has never worked for me. Just bake me a cake and I’m fine. Write me a card and I know you were thinking about me. I don’t appreciate expensive gifts because they imply that the value of a gift correlates to the value of the gift-givers love for you which is just stupid.
Do you remember the time I drove you crazy because all I wanted for my birthday was the complete works of Shakespeare and some obscure Russian literature and you wanted to give me something special? You didn’t understand how special books are to me. Sorry, this is not supposed to be about me but about you. Oh heck, it’s about both of us.
You knew I wasn’t saying I don’t love you less because I didn’t have a gift for you. You said it was okay. And what do you give a person you know is dying for their – what you presume – last birthday anyway? I was at a loss and to be honest. I don’t even remember what we did on this day last year.
I remember others though. One birthday we spent on a cruise around the Emirates. One time I made you a cake and had to hide it from you because I made it the day before and I tried so hard to get the smell out of the house so you would’t know. You said, you have had no clue but was that just motherly of you? Trying to make me feel good because you knew what I did but didn’t want to spoil it for me? Guess I will never know now. Another year I gave you a poem. Not sure you knew what to make of it but it’s how I communicate. With written words not spoken ones.
Oh Mama, I miss you so much! Not that I would enjoy telling you how my thesis is progressing or what is going on in my love life these days but the thing is. You’re not asking me anymore. I’m not waiting for you to come home from work anymore. All the mess I find in this house is mine now and that is something I don’t miss at all because as much as I love you, you were also a little messy.
Today, the sun is shining. It’s cold and the ground is white from snow. A beautiful winter day. But you’re not here to enjoy it with me. Are you watching me though? Like I imagine you do? Are you sitting up there in heaven with Grandpa chatting about the people you left behind and wish you didn’t have to?
This is really stupid but I’m proud that I’m sitting here crying because for so long, I couldn’t. Even though I miss you every single day, I don’t let the sadness that still competes with anger on a few days overwhelm me. I can only let it out in bits. I am fine, please don’t you worry about me. I understand the circle of life like I understand 1+1=2 just some days are harder but they are few in numbers. You do know that this is just me me being me and not a representation of my feelings for you when don’t break down into a puddle of sadness every time I think of you. I’ve made my peace with your passing even long before you did but I also know that it’s not weakness to be sad every once in a while.
Happy Birthday, Mama!
I love you. I miss you.