Birthdays are a time of celebration. To laud attention on the person who’s anniversary of being born falls on a particular day. It’s a time to give gifts and love and to make sure that person has a brilliant day. Today would have been my Mum’s 63rd birthday. I’ve taken the day off of work to spend time with my family. We’re going to get lunch and talk about our memories and we’re going to take flowers to her tree.
I bought my Mum a Mother’s Day card and last week I bought her a birthday card. It might seem odd. She’s never going to see it. Or read it. I still made sure not to get one covered in glitter because she hated getting the stuff all over her. It’s my opportunity to pour out my love and feelings for her in the best way I know how – with pen to paper.
In my grief, I need outlets. I need to work every day and be happy every day. I can’t be sad all the time. So I need times where I can allow myself to be sad. To let it all out and rectify myself again. One of those outlets are the cards, the other is this blog. I know these posts aren’t ‘advancing my blog commercially’. They’re not sponsored and they don’t earn me any money through affiliate links but they are important to me. More so than the ones that I hope will go viral or I care about people loving.
So I want to just use the rest of this post to wish my Mum a Happy Birthday and reminisce a little.
Mum’s birthday’s were always much of a muchness. She hated us spending money on her. She would always say she’d just want to see us and have a nice day together. Occasionally she asked for something small like slippers or socks because she knew we couldn’t NOT get her anything. That sums up the selflessness she possessed. Always more concerned with us spending money on ourselves than ‘wasting’ it on her. We never listened though. Every year we wanted to treat her to something she couldn’t get herself and every year it went to waste. It wasn’t that my Mum wasn’t grateful, she just didn’t ‘need’ it. We bought her a phone and she refused to learn how to use it. We bought her clothes that she would exchange for stuff for us. We bought her numerous ‘useful’ household items that she hated because it meant she had to use them – hoover, iron, slow cooker – busman’s holiday she would think. Deep down she was trying to teach us a lesson about not spending money on her but we didn’t stop. Eventually we changed tack and got her practical things like M&S vouchers or books we knew she could take on her hospital trips. A few times we bought her Bingo gift cards as when she was well enough, she loved to visit the Gala and catch up with her pals.
It’s some small solace that we don’t have the headache of working out what to get her that she can’t exchange or return today.
I try and look back to last year but I physically can’t think about her last birthday. I don’t remember what we did or what we bought. I think my brain has blocked it out because it’s too painful. It blocks out everything that’s a ‘last’ for us. Our last words. Our last Christmas. Our last phone call. Our last moments. It just hurts. Maybe subconsciously I don’t want to accept they were lasts. I remember a few months ago I found old voicemails on my phone and I ended up bawling on a bus. Sadly my iPhone has changed voicemail systems and I now can’t retrieve them again.
I wish I had other happy memories to share with you but they are also too hard to retrieve at the moment. They are there. They will come back but I just can’t force it.
So I’ll just leave this post where it is.
Happy Birthday Mum. Love you the world.