Did I ever tell you, that in the wild mess that followed my mothers death, my phone was run over by an Uber? Perhaps not, that time was really a scene – but in any case, I was on my way to Megan’s house for a family dinner, and as I stepped from the car, laden with dinner, knitting and containers, my phone slipped from my pocket and fell on the ground, awkwardly between the car and the door.
I gathered my things, and then realized I couldn’t reach my phone without closing the car door, and so did that. Naturally, closing the door was the a signal to the driver that I was done, and he rolled forward toward the rest of his life, and over my phone.
I don’t want to get into too many details about what followed so let’s just say that there is no phone that stands up properly to the weight of a Toyota Camry, but the important thing is that when I took it to the Apple store the next day, the dude assigned to solve my problems said he had only ever seen one phone more destroyed than my phone, and that was dropped down an elevator shaft. He gave me a new one, and the whole thing would have been a non-event, except I am a jerk who cannot learn to sync my phone to my laptop, and so it turns out that it had been a little bit since that had happened.
As the car rolled over my phone, it wiped out the last four months of photos, and with it, the last three months of my mother’s life in pictures. I didn’t have a ton of pictures of her to lose because she was really ridiculously averse to having her picture taken* but I did lose the last birthday we had together.
I know now that It doesn’t matter that much. At the time I was goddamn gutted, and had the hardest time with it, but it turns out that I loved her and she loved me and four months isn’t really that much in the context of a lifetime, but it means that the last picture I have of us sharing a birthday is this one from the year before.
And here it is from the other side. My brother Ian’s birthday is the 11th. Jen’s is the 12th, Mum’s is today – the 13th, and mine is tomorrow – June the 14th. Gemini babies, and we always had a cake with a lot of candles, and I don’t hardly remember the birthday song without so many names in it.
It is hard to describe what it is like to have her birthday the day before mine, and I’m not going to try. It’s just…hard. We have always been birthday buddies, and now we’re not and…
Listen, let’s skip the rest. I’ve heard from so many of you who are grieving, who’ve lost someone, who are forging your own path forward, and I’m going to tell you this on the off chance that it helps even one of you – this year is easier than the last. It doesn’t hurt less, not even a little bit. The pain of her death remains a sharp thing in my life, but I am… getting used to it. The pain knocks me down less, I see it coming more, and it is a predicable hurt that I’m learning how to navigate. Do I miss her less? Oh no. Not a little bit. I dream of her voice, her hands, her laugh, and I long daily for her strength, insight and guidance. I wish for two more minutes with her, to walk on a beach with her again, and I would be embarrassed to admit what I would trade to have a cup of tea with her, but the reality that it will never happen is starting to feel more like the way the world works than a raging loss. I miss her, but oh, almost everyone loses their mum. It’s the way things are.
So, another birthday of hers, on the eve of another birthday of mine, and I am here to tell you that I miss her, but that it is probably going to be okay, and that you should go back up your phone right now, in case things get strange with an Uber.
*To my darling girls, take my picture. I’m sorry I said no before now. Take it. As much and as often as you want. Selfie? I’m up for it. A picture where I look fat? DO IT. An odd angle where my eyes look strange? KEEP IT. That thing my hair does that looks like the Queen Mum that I try to fix and make worse? SNAP IT. Anything you want my sweeties. I know now that I’ll never care, and you’ll care a lot. Have at it, and I won’t say a word, thanks to your Gram.