Today is my birthday. And for the 7th time since my mom died in 2005, I have cried myself to sleep on that day. I'm not sure it will ever stop, because that is the one day that tied me to my mother more than anything else, and bless her heart, the one that she did so well that the day doesn't seem to mean anything without her.
My mom and I had a working relationship - meaning we loved each other dearly, but because we were so different, we were constantly working at being comfortable with each other. So life with Mom was never easy for me, but she was wonderful at doing so many motherly things. She was an awesome cook, a great housekeeper, a tireless worker, a survivor and she could figure out a way to fix or jury-rig anything that needed to be fixed in an emergency. And she was one helluva great birthday Mom.
Starting from the very first birthday with the very first number "1" candle on top, Mom made all three of us - my brother, sister and I - a birthday cake on our day every year that she could. It was always delicious, and even though I'm sure the last decade or so they were from the box, when she made them, they were special. Yellow cake with chocolate frosting for me, and we each got to pick our favorite cake flavor every year. When we could be with her for dinner and she was still well enough to cook, she always asked what we wanted and I always wanted her family spaghetti sauce recipe and her special cake.
She always called me on my birthday morning and sang "Happy Birthday" to me into the phone and told me exactly what was happening at the same time on my birth morning. She was the only one who knew the whole story of the day I came into the world. This is one of the curses of being the oldest, because no one else was there before me :) Nowadays, when my sister calls and sings me "Happy Birthday" now, too, I listen extra carefully because in her voice I hear mom's and it always makes me smile. Thanks, Sis :) I feel happy that I have passed on that tradition, at least, because at 9am this birthday, my youngest daughter called and sang it to me, too, and it was very, very sweet.
It has been seven birthdays without Mom now. Seven birthdays without hearing the story of the day I was born or hearing her voice sing. Seven years has seen a few birthdays with no birthday cake, no candles and no blowing them out to make wishes. Maybe that is what's wrong. I haven't wished for anything in years and nothing has come true. Every year I dread the day and hope somehow someone will make me feel as special as Mom did on this day. Because no matter how bad life got, or how much I had to dedicate myself to my family or my obligations, on this day alone I let myself receive instead of give. On this one and only day, I felt worthy of love and attention - and when my Mom was here, she gave it very beautifully. Maybe too beautifully. Because every year I cry myself to sleep on my birthday...because I'm still looking for that someone to realize how special this day is, too.
Happy Birthday, Mom. I love you.
Monday, September 3, 2012
Friday, June 29, 2012
Coffee. Sunrise. Beach. Yoga. In that order. Heaven. My morning just made the highlight of my week at the beach. I LOVE quiet-when I'm not lonely. I LOVE being outside-when it's not too hot, too humid, too cold, too crowded. God loved me this morning, because He gave me EVERYTHING!
It took a good hour to even relax enough to smell the ocean air. I hadn't smelled it all week - my face muscles were so tight I couldn't even inhale. I tried to listen to my body and my mind and do what felt good - and it's not as much as I used to be able to do. I am still adapting. But my muscles were singing to me so loud thanking me for the stretching and movement that I still have hope.
Hope and great thanks, Lord. :)
It took a good hour to even relax enough to smell the ocean air. I hadn't smelled it all week - my face muscles were so tight I couldn't even inhale. I tried to listen to my body and my mind and do what felt good - and it's not as much as I used to be able to do. I am still adapting. But my muscles were singing to me so loud thanking me for the stretching and movement that I still have hope.
Hope and great thanks, Lord. :)
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Footprints in the sand
Going to the beach at 50 is a dicey proposition, at best. I go each year with hopes of sandy beaches and windy breezes on my face while sitting in a comfy beach chair...but I forget about the bodies.
The bodies at the beach are an endless sort of fascination for people watchers, but after a certain age, they become terrifyingly real examples of time passing us by. Just a few years ago, I was one of those bikini-clad women who pacify themselves with the knowledge that by "next year" I would have lost those last five pounds and gotten my flat stomach back through the thousands of sit-ups I would do before then. And then 40 came. Then my last two babies. Then my auto-immune diagnosis. Then the spinal fusion surgery which makes anything close to running on the beach a memory. Then 50.
Now, when I walk the beach, I do not see what I can become if only I work hard enough. I see all the colors of the age rainbow and know exactly where I fit in the color scheme. I am not going to see those days again. Oh, that doesn't mean I won't wear a bikini again - I did yesterday! I am nothing if not a child of the 70s! However - I know how it makes me look. I know how different I look. And I know it will only get harder to see myself going forward. Because the changes I see are not anything I can control. No diet or exercise will fix it. I want to be the amazing 80-year-old on the cover of AARP Fitness magazine (is there such a thing?!), but I know I will not be the one.
Denial is no longer my friend. We have gone our separate ways. I love my life and all the experiences that have made me, but I do not love my jowls and sagging neckline from all the laughing. I love all four of my children, but I do not love the loss of my waist. I love the back surgery that saved me from excruciating pain, but I do not love the loss of my ability to run or jump or cavort on the beach - wait, that might not ALL be lost from the surgery - I am 50, after all. :)
I am at a crossroads of my life and I know it. I remember mourning my childhood at 30. Now I am mourning my vital adulthood at 50. My next phase - God willing it lasts another 20 years - will be challenging. To live fully, but not as energetically. To accept that each next phase will be slower and more measured than the one before. To measure and live life in moments, not years, for that is where I will find the wonder and love of God. I used to find Him in the uncontrollable energy that made me sprint down the beach while on summer vacations. Now I find Him in the depth of my footprints in the sand as I return from my walk on the beach - and know I have been "out there" in life and am now returning.
I am headed Home fulfilled and content, but I will deeply miss the energy of my Journey.
The bodies at the beach are an endless sort of fascination for people watchers, but after a certain age, they become terrifyingly real examples of time passing us by. Just a few years ago, I was one of those bikini-clad women who pacify themselves with the knowledge that by "next year" I would have lost those last five pounds and gotten my flat stomach back through the thousands of sit-ups I would do before then. And then 40 came. Then my last two babies. Then my auto-immune diagnosis. Then the spinal fusion surgery which makes anything close to running on the beach a memory. Then 50.
Now, when I walk the beach, I do not see what I can become if only I work hard enough. I see all the colors of the age rainbow and know exactly where I fit in the color scheme. I am not going to see those days again. Oh, that doesn't mean I won't wear a bikini again - I did yesterday! I am nothing if not a child of the 70s! However - I know how it makes me look. I know how different I look. And I know it will only get harder to see myself going forward. Because the changes I see are not anything I can control. No diet or exercise will fix it. I want to be the amazing 80-year-old on the cover of AARP Fitness magazine (is there such a thing?!), but I know I will not be the one.
Denial is no longer my friend. We have gone our separate ways. I love my life and all the experiences that have made me, but I do not love my jowls and sagging neckline from all the laughing. I love all four of my children, but I do not love the loss of my waist. I love the back surgery that saved me from excruciating pain, but I do not love the loss of my ability to run or jump or cavort on the beach - wait, that might not ALL be lost from the surgery - I am 50, after all. :)
I am at a crossroads of my life and I know it. I remember mourning my childhood at 30. Now I am mourning my vital adulthood at 50. My next phase - God willing it lasts another 20 years - will be challenging. To live fully, but not as energetically. To accept that each next phase will be slower and more measured than the one before. To measure and live life in moments, not years, for that is where I will find the wonder and love of God. I used to find Him in the uncontrollable energy that made me sprint down the beach while on summer vacations. Now I find Him in the depth of my footprints in the sand as I return from my walk on the beach - and know I have been "out there" in life and am now returning.
I am headed Home fulfilled and content, but I will deeply miss the energy of my Journey.
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