It’s your birthday soon. You would be turning 92.
I yearn to call, to share, to listen and to speak with the one person who really understood.
For there were no boundaries, no walls and no pretence.
No need to impress, no yearning for approval, no feelings of inadequacy.
With you, I was always me.
Sometimes I lose that woman who shone in your light. The woman who bathed in your wisdom, bathed in your strength. That woman who, in your presence, allowed herself to breathe, to believe, to shine.
I took a drive to the ocean the other day. It was a day you would’ve embraced. For you loved the ocean, particularly on cold, stormy days. You often said that’s when the ocean was really alive.
When waves crashed on hardened sand, and heavy, black clouds weighted the sky with intensity and fury. That was when, you said, the ocean was truly alive.
On those days, when the weather raged, you’d forage for shells, often finding those that hadn’t fallen victim to the endless pounding of fierce waves. You’d always find those that remained whole, pure and as one. A reflection of you perhaps.
The morning after you left, I took a walk by the ocean. The sand was scattered with shards of broken shells, I paused for a moment and at my feet lay a perfect shell. Did you place it there?
I took it home. It now sits in the frame of your picture.
Yes, with you, I was always me…
It’s your birthday soon. Happy 92nd Mum.
I love you. Always.