My mom and I speak every day. We have become very close over the last several years in a way I never imagined would be possible. It is a gift of the difficulties we have experienced/shared. If life had been straight forward and smooth (of course it never is) we might have never spoken about much beyond recipes and shoes.
Since my dad died about 6 weeks ago, we keep asking each other how is your everything?
I keep saying the same thing.
I have been feeling a few mixed emotions about my upcoming birthday. It is a round and fat number but not in a jolly way. If numbers were people- this number would be crotchety, and wrinkly and unsexy. It would have warts, grey hair, sore joints and limited energy. It would wear flats, and pants with elastic waists and safe colours or tent dresses hiding its shape. It would cut its hair short and be blind without glasses. Little leggy skirts would get passed on to children or young neighbours. It would forget people’s names and re tell boring stories and refuse red peppers because it would be hard on the digestion. It would be sensitive to food, colds and criticism. It might be narrow minded and jaded. It would stop believing in love. It would need to let go of childish ways- including the best parts of herself- her playfulness, her teasing, her appetite for life and just grow up for once and ACT HER AGE.