My mother would have been 68 years old today. 10 years ago, she celebrated her last birthday.
Her absence has transformed from a gaping. bleeding hole in my chest to a shadowy, peripheral thing. Ephemeral yet always present. Not always noticed except when it’s all I can see
My life is so different now than when she was here. The world seems so different too. Macro and micro. Those of us still alive have seen and survived so much since 2011. But I never cease being her child. I still foolishly seek her imaginary advice or approval. She is still the yardstick I measure everything against, especially my shortcomings.
I wish she could have seen me become a mother, meet my kids. Enjoyed retirement, and some years with less caregiving responsibilities. I don’t know that longing for the impossible serves me, but on this day I can’t help myself.