Should we still celebrate? It’s certainly a bittersweet day. The day of your birth. You just can’t be here to take part. It should still be recognized, I feel. Even if it is in my own way.

I talk to you a lot. I don’t know if you know. I’d like to think you do. I wonder often, “What would Mom do now? What would she say? Would she have done the same thing?” I haven’t dreamed about you in a long time. I think I’ve really only had one or two dreams about you. But I have daily reminders here. Constant reminders. Your wedding set, your urn, your face staring back from the mirror. Good reminders, save for the urn.

I really miss you. I wish you could have stayed a little while longer. We really could do with some Mom advice. The Mom filter and guide are truly missed on the home front. Just having you around to talk with every once in awhile would be nice. Seeing K graduate from Princeton and go on to become a doctor. You’d be so very proud of her. I am. I think I’ve finally found my own niche. It’s not music, which I’m sure is a disappointment, but it is creative and it is in food and beverage and I love it. And Munchkin is growing up. He’s smart, but lazy academically. I know you would have some words of wisdom there.

God, there are so many things to tell you. I wonder if you know? I don’t know how to put words to them. I don’t even know why I’m writing this post. But I wanted to remember you on your day. So here I sit, in front of the monitor, near midnight at the end of your day. After manically cleaning the house, thinking of you, talking with K, a brief talk with Da and an email with The Aunt.

I relax here now with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company. Now the tears come. Now I quietly celebrate you.