Still My Mother’s Birthday

My mother was born on February 18th. She’s not alive anymore but that special date, February 18th, whispers to me like a soft little hum in my ear all year round until February lands and I anticipate her birthday in all of its painful glory. In my lifetime I celebrated very few birthdays with my mother, who was sick for several of them, and she died when I was 11.

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 shade of purple, like 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.

This time of year weighs on me emotionally. 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. Mam died in March, just three days before my dad’s birthday, and followed quickly by 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 my mother. Dad and I call each other on those dates and some family members call my father on March 2nd which we appreciate. It’s a nice thing to do. But in the years since Mam died rarely does anybody else mention her to me on these significant occasions. People forget dates, I get it and some don’t want to bring it up, don’t want to upset me. But, guess what? I know what date it is. I haven’t forgotten and it’s always nice to know that someone is thinking of you, to know that the person who meant the world to you is being thought of, that their death did not cancel out their memory. One of the greatest, most meaningful gifts you can give a close friend is a call or a text on one of those significant, often emotional, days.

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. I am working on a book written in her honor and it is almost ready to be sent out into the world. Briefly I Knew My Mother is a story of mother loss. It is Mam’s story and my story, and it explores the universal experience of love, grief and mother loss and the lasting impacts of early grief. I’ve poured my heart into the memoir and I’m determined to create a true and beautiful telling of our story.

Happy Birthday, Mam! You were born on this day many, many years ago and it remains a special, wonderful, magical day. I’ll light a candle in your honor and browse photographs of us while sipping a cup of hot tea. Come sit with me while I browse? Stay for a while. I have a feeling you will.

Much love,

Carmel X

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“No one is actually dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away…”

― Terry Pratchett, Reaper Man

 

Carmel Breathnach is a writer and former school teacher born in Ireland and living in Portland, Oregon. She holds a B.A. degree in English literature and Irish language studies from NUI Maynooth, and a Graduate Diploma in Education with honors from St. Patrick’s College, Dublin. Her writing centers on childhood grief and the long-term impacts of early mother loss. Carmel’s work has appeared in the New York Times, The Irish Times, Huffington Post, Upworthy, Scary Mommy, Voice Catcher, Modern Loss, Pendemic.ie, The Good Men Project, the anthology Hidden Lights: A Collection of Truths Not Often Told and on the National Alliance for Children’s Grief (NACG) website. She is currently querying her memoir titled Briefly I Knew My Mother.

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