I celebrated my birthday in August. Perhaps celebrated is a bit over the top. I tolerated…no, that’s not quite right either. I glided through my birthday. It wasn’t a milestoner or hugely significant in any other way, except that it was my first birthday without my mama.
Someone once told me that your mother’s face is the first face you love. So how could I not think of Mama on my birthday? Looking back on my last birthday, I specifically remember that my mama did not completely remember. We talked a bit about it but she didn’t respond in the same way she would have in the past; wanting to take me out to breakfast or bake me a cake or tell me how young I am. I really miss that.
Last year on my birthday, Mama was beginning to fade. At one point during the day I have a memory of feeling slightly hurt by her lack of zeal, but that was her disease, not her. Her mind was beginning the journey of closing doors, but I couldn’t see that, or more accurately, didn’t want to see that.
There are many examples of this denial in myself as well as in my siblings, but that is a subject for another day.
On this hot day of August 21, 2019, I will cry some tears and I will bite my lip a couple of times when others speak of my birthday. I will smile and mean it. My heart is full, and grateful for a mama whose face I loved first and who also first loved mine.