A Letter to My Mom on the Day Before My Birthday

I’m well past the age you were when you died. Unlike you, who never lived long enough to see your youngest grandchild born (and the other two were mere babies). I’ve not only gotten to see all of my grandchildren enter this world, but to thrive, and the oldest rapidly moving toward adulthood.

Unlike you, I’ve gotten to see the wonder that each grandchild is, each one experienced through a lens that isn’t cluttered by a parent’s sometimes crushing sense of responsibility, second-guessing or frustration.

Unlike you, I’ve gotten to see my kids grow fully into adulthoods that fill me with marvel and respect, and I see them going seamlessly from young to that time of life when we pass into a kind of wisdom and perspective that only age affords.

I’ve also gotten to hear them start to complain about the effects of aging, and I wince that these precious souls who I thought I could always protect are now walking the same path that I did, the path that used to be so smooth and is now strewn with small pebbles that can hurt their feet or make them second-guess their stamina. You never had to hear that from me, Mom. You left when I was still young and strong and oblivious to the ways my own path would change.

Unlike you, I’ve gotten to experience the end of my professional career, one that I dearly loved but that never defined me. People talk about reinvention. I haven’t reinvented myself. I’ve simply chosen the identity I took back in high school or even earlier, a focus on my creative soul. You had that as well Mom, but life ended before you could grasp your own. I am now extraordinarily fortunate to be what defined me way back then. I can’t tell you, Mom, how proud I was of my professional career. But who I am now feels true in a way my professional career never could.

When you died, I yearned to be the best of who you were in the world. But unlike you, I can be selfish. I can be judgmental. I can be passive aggressive. I can be exactly what I never saw in you. And at these times, I ache for your arms and for your guidance.

But, like you, when I get past the fear that stops me, I can sometimes see moments of a generosity of spirit and a wisdom in me that reminds me of you. I can’t be everything you were. But I can move forward each day in this time that I am so grateful for, to have more of those precious moments.