For the last five years, August 9th has been a date I have found pretty difficult to bear. My mother would have been 67 today, and I wish so much that I could still visit her or call her on skype and see her, and talk to her, and spoil her with champagne, chocolate truffles, and flowers for her birthday.
I wish I could get excited because she was planning a visit to California to come see me and my life. I wish I could show her my life and my gratitude.
Nothing ends the numbness I feel when I realize for a moment that she is gone forever. It pauses for a while as I am busied by life and things and days and those thoughts that come from nowhere.
To go from believing that there would always be a person around that had your back no matter what, no matter how much you messed up, to feeling unsure what you would do if you ever hit rock bottom and really truly needed someone, is a jolt to the psyche. I have experienced the slow realization that my connection to life is cut at one end. Not only that but the memories and anecdotes of my own very existence died with my dear mother.
When Susan Newton died in November 2012, part of me died too, and more parts die forever until I’m gone.
I miss you and love you and close my eyes so hard and wish you were still here for me.