Happy Birthday, Mom.
I don’t write to you as much as I did, but trust me, it’s not that I think of you less. The painful memories are fading a bit, but there is so much I would love to share with you. I miss talking to you and our unique combination of totally silly and surprisingly deep conversations. Hours on the phone, love and laughter. You and I carrying on the “getting low on the couch/chair/bed” tradition of talking so long that the body gives up and reclines. I know you and Barb did that and I treasure the memory of our relationship continuing the silliness.
I still feel a loss of purpose on so many things- I don’t take as many photographs, I don’t blog as much, and I don’t tweet as much. Neil and I were both so dedicated to bringing you glimpses of our lives in as many ways possible, but now that you’re gone, a huge reason for my internet activities has diminished. I ask myself “why am I doing” things when you aren’t around anymore. I remember being mortified when you began reading my blog so many years ago and then the feeling that I couldn’t be my ‘normal’ self on Twitter when you starting monitoring that too. You changed my whole reason for those behaviours and I find that doing either without you now is strange and sometimes very empty.
I’m getting older, sure and these internet activities may be less attractive to me than in the past, but I ended up doing so much of it for you, for our closeness over 4000 miles of land and ocean. I miss that. I miss the impetus of geographical distance giving my online activities significance. Too often now I feel like my time on the internet – be it photo sharing, blogging, or tweeting – is just a distraction from doing things that matter, and what matters has changed since you died. It had to. I am in a limbo between keeping up just enough on the internet to maintain my more casual relationships and professional ties, and turning it all off because it has lost a major chunk of purpose.
I miss you, Mom. You’d be 66 today and not thrilled about that fact. You and Aaron would probably go out to Olive Garden for a feast of alfredo sauce slathered goodness, and we would have a great time on the phone. You would’ve received flowers yesterday from the shop I always trusted to give you the best with my limited funds. It would have been like any other year, but it’s not. This year I have your remains in a box above my desk and the flower shop had one less order for February.
I don’t like being without you. I need to re-imagine my place in the world and online. It’s difficult and it’s hard to do something like this without you being on the other end of the phone line for support, guidance, and the suggestion that the answer to all of life’s problems can be – at least temporarily – solved by a pan of brownies.
I’ll manage. I am managing.
It’s just not easy.