Hello. This morning I had this really wonderful, tragic poem drifting through my head. A poem about loss and love and heartache and anguish. Anguish is a good word. Fitting. I said to myself that if they wrote on my gravestone -the girl who never got over her mother's death- I would not be a disappointment. A tragic existence is my fate and that has a touch of romance to it which is helping me through this day. Today I will be in my little world of desperate and morose thoughts and they will keep me company. Because today is my mom's birthday. I went to Whole Foods and bought big delicious cupcakes for my children. And sushi for myself. Tonight I'm meeting my sister to wallow and wonder and wander together. I think I've written that line before. May we accomplish nothing but only mark the day. With every year that passes I realize what a wee babe my mom was when she died. She was still in her forties when she was diagnosed. 52 when she died. I had no idea how young that was at the time. I miss her every day. I miss her when i see a free range duck in the grocery store. I miss her when the leaves change color and when I see my daughters and niece perform in a play. And I miss her on her birthday and dream about how we would have celebrated.
I take comfort in knowing there is an Ian in the world.