If today didn’t happen the way that it did in 1942, I wouldn’t be here. My mom was born today. She shares her birthday with Elvis Presley and David Bowie and Carolyn from my Sketch Writing Class. She was born four days after my Aunt Patsy, my dad’s younger sister. My grandmothers shared a hospital room at St. Bernard’s Hospital, this same week in 1942. They would not meet again until my parents began dating some 27 years later. My mom’s life became a part of mine the moment she brought me into the world; our lives perpetually intersected with every birthday, with every graduation, with every walk to church, with every flat of flowers planted for Mother’s Day, with every birth and death in our family, with every marriage and every divorce, and more.
Without her, I would not be.
After a long day today and knowing that I still needed to write tonight, I thought of writing the grateful blog, that Dale did. I couldn’t do it. Not for 15 minutes anyway. I didn’t need the time when only one person came to mind: My mom. I am beyond grateful, consummately proud, and truly blessed. Everything that a mother, could and should be, generous and kind, witty and smart, compassionate and empathetic, she is and I still hope I will and can be. Happy Birthday Mom.