My mother was born on February 18th. She’s not alive anymore but that special date, February 18th is like a soft little hum in the back of my mind until the new year comes round and I anticipate it’s arrival in all of its painful glory.
I asked Mam once what her favorite number was and she told me it was 18. So I know one of her favorite things. I don’t know her favorite color although I suspect it may have been a light shade of purple: lavender perhaps? I don’t know what her favorite food was or her favorite drink. I never asked her if she had a favorite book or a favorite friend? She had so many friends and was such a sweet person that I don’t think she would have admitted to having a favorite, but I’d like to hear her responses. I like the number 18 too. It’s probably my favorite number although before Mam told me hers, my favorite number was 8.
I was born in January, Mam’s birthday is in February and my dad’s birthday is in March. Three consecutive months of family birthdays beginning with mine at the very start of each new year. And we’ve been without Mam now since I was 11 years old. Yes, this time of year is trying for me emotionally.
Mam died in March, just three days before my dad’s birthday, and then comes the hullabaloo of Mother’s Day which in Ireland, where I was born and raised, is celebrated a mere few weeks after the date she died.
Mam’s birthday and the anniversary of her death are quietly remembered by those who were closest to Mam. My dad and I call each other on those dates. But in the years since Mam died rarely does anybody else mention her to me on these sad but special occasions. It’s just a date to most people. Many forget. Others don’t want to cause upset. I know that family members call my dad on March 2nd. It’s a nice thing to do. It might not be an easy thing to do but it does help. Just to know that the person who meant the world to you is being thought of, that their death did not wipe out their memory, that your loss is recognized by those who love you.
Today as always, on Mam’s birthday, I’ll speak silently to her. I’ll wish her a happy birthday wherever she may be, and I’ll tell her I miss her and wish she hadn’t been taken from us so soon. This year I have a book written in her honor and it is ready to be sent out into the world when the time is right. I hope and pray that the time will soon be right. A LOVELY WOMAN is a story of mother loss. It is Mam’s story and my story, and it is a universal story of courage, family unity, grief and love.
Happy Birthday, Mam, wherever you are! You were born on this day many years ago and it is a special, wonderful, magical day. I’ll light a candle in your honor, take out some photos of us and sip a cup of hot tea. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?
“No one is actually dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away…”