Birthday Blues

Me and my mom, March 10, 2018. PC Marchauna Rodgers, all rights reserved.

It's my birthday. This day officially marks the completion of another trip around the sun, my fourth since my mom died. Instead of time making that loss easier, to be honest, it is getting harder. 

The truth is, nobody loves you like your mom. The woman whose voice you know before you are born, the woman whose kisses magically heal childhood wounds, and whose shoulders carry the extra weight of middle school drama... nobody in the world loves you quite like your mom. And my mom is gone. It's hard. It is especially hard on my birthday. 

Probably the hardest part of losing my mom is the brokenness that defined our relationship. As much as my mom and I loved each other, we weren't close. Interactions were often strained. We didn't talk every day, or even every week. It wasn't that I was unwilling to have a relationship; wounds on both sides created invisible barriers that made intimacy difficult. 

My mom and dad, days before my mom's passing. 
PC Marchauna Rodgers, all rights reserved.

The lack of intimacy made grieving for Mom complicated. My sister and dad were walking their own paths of grief, which I felt unable to share. Plus, my daughter was recovering from brain surgery and my children were struggling with the chaos of facing two simultaneous medical crises. In trying to help tend the hearts of my children, I didn't have much space or place for navigating my own anguish. 

Time heals all wounds, so the saying goes. My experience proves otherwise. Time has not healed this wound. The ache over the loss of my mother continues to deepen, grief always just under the surface. Today, it's boiling over the top. My mom will not be wishing me a Happy Birthday. I haven't heard her voice in more than three years. And I won't until we are reunited in Heaven. 

Selfie in the hospital with Mom.
PC Marchauna Rodgers,
all rights reserved. 

To be completely honest, because I didn't have a great relationship with my mom, I have felt, in a sense, that I didn't deserve to grieve... that I didn't have a right to mourn. But I do. Even if my mom and I were not close, she was still my mom. She was a huge influence in my life. She is part of almost every memory from my childhood. Though I have not lived at home for more than three decades, she was part of most of my memories as an adult as well, until she was not. That loss is worth mourning. Especially on my birthday. 

Mom's 50th wedding anniversary, PC Tami Siriani, all rights reserved. 

Memorial Day 2018, days before my mom was diagnosed with cancer. 
PC Nicole Connolly, all rights reserved.