It's My Blog and I'll Cry If I want To

It sort of is my birthday, well, not really, but it is. One year ago was my first blog entry. In fact, it was only one year ago that I even started my blog. I managed to accost Dani online for some late night coaching and then stayed up really really really late to play around and feel confident enough to actually hit that orange publish button.

But, in all honestly, today is a real birthday. It's my Mom's birthday. She would've been 75 years old today. But three years ago, she died (August 28, 2003).

I choose to celebrate her perhaps a wee bit more than I do every day, and not to mourn any extra on the anniversary of her death. She deserves happiness, not sadness.

Am I any less sad that she is no longer with us? Not a chance. Do I still miss her so much every day it hurts from the ends of hair to my toenails? Absolutely. Is it fair? No. But life isn't, and I can deal with that.

What hurts the most? That she isn't here to physically relish in every waking moment of her grandsons. She had 15 months with them. I am most grateful and thankful that she did, but maybe that hurts a little more knowing that she knew, instead of her never knowing what she is missing. Her precious grandsons, my miracle boys, Trevor & Ben, do something every single day that makes me sad cry that she doesn't get to see it, touch it, hear it, or at least my being able to tell her (for real, cause I still tell her everything).

I talk about her all the time. They know she is dead. I think they kinda sorta almost understand a little bit. I tell them she is an angel, a star in the sky watching us and doing everything with us. Ben says most knowingly, "Mommy, angels aren't real." and I do smile, cause he is right. Then he gets pissed off when I tell him neither are dragons. So there. I have to believe that she is here, somewhere, even in the most untouchable of ways.

On the boys' 4th birthday, it was a gorgeous, sunny warm day late in May. We all went out to the back porch to open their gifts. There was almost 20 of us in total. Just as we sat down to watch the carnage start, a cardinal started singing out as loud as he could be heard. He was close, damn close, likely in the tree right above us. My mother's most favourite bird was the cardinal. (is the cardinal, is...why is it so hard for me to write was?). Anyway, my father, brother and I immediately looked at one another, "There's Mom." We ALL thought and said the exact same thing. You can't make that stuff up. (right Brenda?)

Birthdays in my world are important. Everyone deserves their special day to be unique, enjoyable, and memorable, as simple or as extravagant as they wish. I want my blog's birthday to be fun and remember the most inspirational woman in my life. I do feel a little awkward posting this right after the one about a penis in the Ikea catalogue, but I will tell you that my mother would've surely had a good giggle about that one.

Happy Birthday!