Happy Birthday – Belated

Yesterday was her 77th birthday – my belated mom. Happy belated birthday takes on a whole new meaning.

Today I take the beloved shofar to the funeral home where they are preparing her headstone. I will visit her unstoned grave afterward and tell her she missed her birthday.

We would have gone to the Big Lake Bar and Grill for all you can eat prawns. She ate 20 last time we went! We would have taken a drive in the snow. The mountains are beautiful with their powdered sugar tops.

Last Saturday she would have loved my breathtaking scenic out to Everson. She always liked going along for the ride even when she didn’t feel good. She would have enjoyed my venture to pick up a load of old picture frames that a guy donated to the Art Guild. His mother is an artist who is too shaky to paint anymore. My mom would have said, “Me too!” Though she never made a painting in her life. She was shaky though.

She would have loved stopping by the side of the road to listen to the Canada geese and trumpeter swans. And the Canadian mountains covered in thick snow looked close enough to touch set against an azure sky. And Mount Baker and the Three Sisters looked just like a painting- definitely designed with a steady hand.

She would have liked the guy who gave me the frames and she would have cracked up that Siri took me to the wrong house first. I got out of the car and a guy was out working in the yard in the biting blustering wind. I got out and assumed it was the guy. I said “I’m here to pick up the frames.” He seemed a bit confused but I let that go as he led me into the carport without a word. “So your mother is an artist?” He says “yep”. Something seemed awkward but he was determined to get to his back door. The yard was filled with my kind of treasures – rusty things that make me happy – milk cans and old things. “Is she still alive?” He turns and says “No”. Man of few words I decide to follow him (my mom would now be freaking out – a guy online leading me into his house…and me following). Thankfully as he opened the door his wife is there and he tells her I’m there for some frames. She is at a loss and I tell her about the message on Facebook to the art guild. She says it’s probably their neighbor! Oh my gosh. I look around their property and the frozen pond with the rusty things in the yard — I tell them they have a beautiful place and sorry to bother them. I’m sure they think I’m crazy.

Anyway, my next stop got the frames. Kind people with a beautiful fat Dalmatian. Frames nearly too big for my car, covered in ancient spider webs. But a couple real treasures we can sell for the scholarship fund. A good find!

Back to the birthday girl. She always enjoyed my adventures and lived vicariously through each of us who traveled or worked or took on a hobby. She didn’t want to travel or make things but she always wanted to hear all about us.

Yesterday Savannah started texting out her last voicemails. I sat in my office and listened to mine as well and that’s when it hit me. Especially the final one .. the one where she sounded sick and wanted me to call immediately. And I cried.

I’m sorry she missed her birthday. I miss her.

©Belindabotzong2019

Author: belindabotzong

I am a writer of historical fiction currently working on a novel based in Washington State from the years of 1900-1945. I love to write poetry and prose inspired by Creation, as well as share in life's journey through grief, mental illness, and travel. I am very blessed to be able to pursue my passion of writing, creating, and sharing my thoughts here. View all posts by belindabotzong