it's that day again.

happy birthday, mom. you would have been 64 today. the tomatoes are all blooming too, as if i need more reminders of you.

lots of stuff has happened since you left us almost 9 years ago. but i figure you know. but what don't you know...

do you know that you are missed? there's an empty spot in all our lives where you used to be. a quiet place in my heart where i remember your pain. if only...

the farther i get from the day you left, the more i rail against the injustices you suffered through. you are gone because of injustice. you suffered most all your life from one injustice or another. the hardships you went through weren't of your own making. although so many people would want to say they were. what the fuck do they know. i was there.

and life has not gotten any easier. not really.

and me? i'm still alone. just like you were. and i understand exactly why you stayed alone. mothers cannot afford to make the same mistake twice. and so many do.

but not you. and not me.


i'll be seeing you, mom.


love,
me

happy birthday mom, you would have been 63 today!

i miss you today. i'd have made you a pecan pie which was your favorite. and then bought you something in blue, your favorite color. certain shades just made your eyes that steely grey. i can't imagine how you'd look now though. lots more grey. your brown skin maybe more sallow than it was even at the end.
i am very glad i didn't look at your remains in the casket. my sister and i SO did not want to go in your apartment to find you something to wear. so we just hurried and reached in the closet and grabbed the first nice looking thing we saw. it was pink. and they made up your face to match the pink dress. i saw that much from the back of the funeral home. we didn't want the casket open at all. it wasn't our choice.
that so wasn't you.

plaid cotton shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes. that was you. you loved being outside and it made your skin look so brown the mixed parts showed through. i remember the gardening you tried so hard to do, back in the days when it was not common to have decent fresh corn even in season unless you found a farmer's market.
and you loved tomatoes. i remember how you'd go to the little corner store, walking over a mile there every day, waiting impatiently for the first spring hothouse tomatoes. you hated the snow in ohio so much. then when you got those tomatoes, you'd slice them up and eat them all drenched in french dressing. i didn't care for them so much. and besides, having them made you so happy.
i'd grow you fresh tomatoes so you could eat them every day till you got sick of them, if you were here.
and corn, good gods you loved corn as well. none of that canned crap for you though. only fresh off the cob. the only thing you'd eat canned was hominy grits.

lots of things remind me of you: grey eyes, hominy grits, iced sweet tea, louis lamour novels, marlboro cigarrettes, a fine legible close and small script, plaid cotton shirts, straight dark hair that sticks up every which way, mowing the grass, red ford ranger xlt's, metal shelves full of books, brown skin, high heeled lace up embroidered knee high go-go boots, cats eye glasses, and chantilly perfume.

mom? why didn't you take better care of yourself? didn't you know we loved you? didn't you understand what the doctors told you? but then maybe you did, but you got tired of the loneliness and the sadness that plagued every single day that i can remember...
i hope with all my heart that you have rest and peace now. i know you never had peace here.

love,
me