Today is my mother's birthday.
Dorothy, or Dot, would've been eighty-five. I'm not sure she would've liked being eighty-five but what do I know. I know she was very independent and would've hated being a bother to anyone. She slipped away quickly which worked out since she was brought up not to linger over goodbyes; leftovers from a military father.
I know she would say,
I had a very beautiful life.
It'll be ten years since she walked through the door.
Some days it feels like a month. Some days I pretend I can drive to her house in Connecticut; we'll sit and have tea and talk about books we've read. And talk about children and marriage and how there's not a whole lot we have control over. We'll eat corn on the cob and sliced tomatoes with fresh basil from Lyman's Orchard .
I know this is magical thinking.
Occasionally, I let myself have at it.
Mom liked to say,
Bets, don't be afraid to be happy.
A good thing to catch yourself mumbling...don't be afraid to be happy, don't be afraid to be happy, don't be afraid...
This tiny piece from Be Generous by David Marell is a lift.
Proof That Life Goes On
My friend, Gertrude, died.
Gertrude is still my friend.
I think, my mother died. She is still my mother.
~ in memory of Dorothy Southam Jackson
July 7, 1926 - December 19, 2001
