Happy 70th to my Mom In Heaven

A snap shot from the video we found of my mom last night. Best birthday present for all of us.

Happy 70th to my mommy in heaven. You’re no longer here, but I know you’re very much with me, that you never really left...

I miss you so much...and not for the reasons I originally missed you, so many years ago...like not having you to tuck me into bed—the way only you could do. I missed not having your butterfly kisses and ugga muggas. I missed not having you to go on girl scout camping trips with me or to chaperone my school field trips. Not having you sitting front row center for my school plays or to dress me up for chorus performances. To drive me to Ann Truby’s swim lessons every summer and to treat me to TCBY. To read American Girl books with me on the couch, with the patience of a saint. To take me to Senn’s 5 and 10s store, just because. To sit with me on the boat and hold me safely in your arms. I missed bumping into you in the hallways at Palmetto Elementary and stealing an extra hug from you during the school day.

And I no longer miss you for the reasons people assume any girl would miss their mom- like not having you here to teach me how to wear makeup, or to give me dating advise, or to set me up in my dorm my first year of college or to walk me down the aisle with dad on my wedding day or to be that one other person in the room with me and Joe when giving birth to our two sons. To have built-in childcare and to have a mom to ask endless parenting questions to no matter how old my boys get.

I just miss YOU mom. Every day! I miss having a mom...here with me in the flesh. I miss saying the word “mom” out loud for only you to hear. I miss being able to hold you and have you hold me. I miss your voice. Your touch. Your scent. Your laugh. Your heartbeat. The vibration of your vocal cords when I would lay my head on your lap. The feeling of my hand in yours, your fingers intertwined with mine. I miss those things and 1,000,000 other little things that make you mine. Undeniably MY mom. 

If you were here today, we would celebrate you like crazy. 70 years! We would throw you a big party, like we did on your 40th, with a surprise party at our house that everyone knew about for weeks, except for me because everyone knew that there was no I way I could keep anything from you.

We would dance like no one was watching. We would be silly together. We would reminisce and share stories. We would drink...because well we are adults now and I know you had a stomach of steel and I bet we would have a blast drinking together! We would pack the room with your friends and family because you were/are SO loved by SO many. We would have a cake and you would blow out your candles with the help of your 4 beautiful grandsons. I have no doubt about it. They would look at you like you’re the coolest, just like I always did. 

It’s August 18, 2020. I wake up. It’s 7AM on your 70th birthday and you’re not here. I haven’t seen you in almost 28 years. Back to reality I go- knowing I can only see you in my dreams and that my boys will only see you in photographs.

Except this year is different. Turns out we do get to see you and hear your sweet voice— just last night I found an old video of you. It is from a family summer vacation in Rockport, MA in 1991. I was 8 and Lori was 10 years old. My boys for the first time ever got to hear your voice. They got to see not just the face of their grandma Linda, but they got to see you in motion. Alive. Talking poolside with cousin Karen. Laughing. Blushing whenever the camera would zoom in on you. And closely watching Lori and me in the pool- making sure we were safe and not diving on top of one another. There is a part of the video where you join us in the pool and I reach my arms up in the air and call out for you- asking you to come over and hold me in the water... and you do.... happily. My heart breaks seeing this because it’s me and it’s you, and it’s me and it’s Conner, and it’s me and it’s Hudson... it’s all the same. That love. That connection. That wanting for your mom to come over and hold you. That safe familiar place. I’ll never be too old for that mom. I am 38 years old now and what would I give to have you hold me in your arms.  

Today we will celebrate you. We will find special moments in the day to think of you, talk about you, and honor you. We will dance like no one is watching. We will be silly. We will reminisce and share stories about you. We will raise our glasses (and juice boxes) for a birthday toast to you. We will have a cake and your grandsons will help blow out your candles. The only thing missing will be your laughter, but I am sure I will hear it through Conner and Hudson’s.

We love you mom. Thanks for always being with us, watching over us and loving us from afar. We couldn’t pick a better mom or grandma than you.