Birthdeath Day
Today would have been Mom's 61st birthday. Instead of planning a party, we're planning her funeral. It's surreal to think that just two weeks ago, everything was normal, and now there's this immense void within my chest. The reality of moving on without her is unbearably painful.
The day greeted us with a foot of snow—Mom loved the snow. It might sound corny, but there's something fitting about her being surrounded by snow on her birthday.
Mom had three siblings, each very... opinionated. Keeping the peace, a skill Mom mastered, is proving to be a challenge. My sister and I wanted a small celebration of life, but it's morphed into a massive event. Now, my uncle wants to add a digital photo film to the mix. My sister had planned to make boards with meaningful family photos. How do you convey a pain that only you can feel? It's heartrending.
The hardest part is fielding calls for approvals on new ideas—as if we had a choice. My sister feels steamrolled, and I'm tired of discussing it. How many more times must we declare, "Mom's dead"? To the insurance, the bank, credit card companies, the auto loan office, Social Security... it's a never-ending cycle of reminders.
Grief is incomprehensibly complex.
Anyway, happy birthday, Mom. We'll be fine.
