Grieving 64 Candles – Happy Birthday, Momma.

Today you’d be turning 64. I’m not sure if we would have had a party for you. I can’t say we would have gathered like a normal family, while you played with your grandchildren. It’s a picture I like to believe was possible. One that under normal circumstances would be predictable. Then again, nothing about your life was predictable.

I’ve learned more about you since you have been gone, but still feel like a huge piece is missing. When did it all start to unravel for you? Who dropped the ball and failed to reach out to you? Why didn’t you ever reach for the hands that did?

I walked into your childhood bedroom this summer. If only walls could talk. I have a fitful rage to know what it was like for you. To unravel your story, so that I can see where the direction my life took began. Drug abuse, alcoholism, mental illness, inability to parent, not seeing yourself worthy enough of love until the very end…that doesn’t stem from no where.

I have such a good life. And that is why my heart breaks for the life you lost. Not just since you’ve been gone, but I get the sense, since the day you were born – today. There must have been love around you – I’ve seen your baby pictures and they are ones of proud parents and a beautiful baby girl, but the photos never tell the whole story. You are no longer here to tell me your story. That’s what I grieve the most. the inability to acknowledging your story.

What I can’t see, I feel inside. I know there was a survivor’s strength fueling your wild heart. I have that light. Your granddaughter has that light. I just pray she won’t ever have to go looking for it, like we did. Maybe the generational cycle of dysfunction is ending with me. I can only hope.

The difficulties your survived, while you tried to find your place in the world have not been forsaken. The movement forward you made in your short time here, travels on with my soul. I love you, Momma. Cheers to you – the life you lived and the life you gave me.

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11 thoughts on “Grieving 64 Candles – Happy Birthday, Momma.

  1. ((Hugs)) I think you and I have more in common than I realized.

    Knowing there was a cycle of dysfunction is the first step toward breaking it.

    • I’ve had many years to process the grief and continue to do so. My Mom passed away in ’97. My grief looks different all the time and some days are better than others for me. Her birthday is always tough for me though.

  2. This piece touched me on so many levels. I, too, hope the cycle is broken with you. But I am sure it will because I don’t see why it couldn’t be.

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