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.
