February 17, 2013

17 Feb

Hello Moother,

Today is my 29th birthday. It’s the first birthday that I’m not receiving a phone call, card, or enjoying some homemade cake you’ve made. It’s also been ten days since I’ve looked into your face and spoken to you. Eleven days ago I was sitting by your bedside crying, processing that I had to say goodbye to you and you were saying, “I don’t know what to tell you.” You also asked me to begin making grand-babies for you and daddy. No pressure, or anything. 

Since, it’s been a horrible ten days. It’s weird not being able to call you on a whim. When I go to sleep, I desperately hope to get a visit from you, but it hasn’t happened. I know you’re around because everywhere I look, I’m reminded of you. I keep hoping that you’ll appear, or call, or email, anything to indicate you’re still here. 

Last night, I barely slept thinking about how today would be my first motherless birthday. Even though birthdays have never been a big deal in our family, birthdays are the day that ground you to your mother. It’s the first day of my life that commemorates my not being attached to you. It’s the day we were separated from each other. Still, we were at least on Earth together. That’s no longer the case. 

I found a voicemail from you the other day. You were singing me “Happy Birthday.” I listened to it first thing this morning, and for a brief moment, it made me feel so happy, but then I realized that the feeling was fleeting. I promise not to become obsessive and listen to it over and over again, like I did with Michael Jackson’s “Thriller.”

This birthday won’t ever be a favorite of mine. It will always be the first birthday that I had celebrate without my moother, just like the birthdays of the future. It will go down as the worst, followed by my 23rd birthday when my phone didn’t ring because the settings were off, and I thought everyone forgot about me. 

After I listened to that voicemail, I remembered one of my favorite birthday memories. Justin and I had been dating for about a year, and we were at the house on a Sunday. You had baked a cake in the shape of heart because you said I was your valentine. Before you brought it out, you said, “The cake is a bit big.” It was, in fact, the biggest cake I’d ever seen. It was so big you could barely carry it. Justin said he wondered how you got it to fit in the oven. I remember laughing so hard because it was so ridiculous. We all laughed because there were six of us sitting at the table staring at this huge cake with no hope of eating even an eighth of it. 


I love you,

Your Number One



3 Responses to “February 17, 2013”

  1. 5kidswdisabilities February 18, 2013 at 11:32 pm #

    I am so sorry for your loss…

    • figliaprima February 19, 2013 at 1:24 am #

      Thank you for your understanding. I hope this blog helps me grieve.

  2. TattooGee May 29, 2013 at 2:33 pm #

    I’m sorry that you have to go through this…I went through a similar loss at the end of last year and had to spend the holidays without my grandfather. I also found out that I was pregnant with his grandson shortly after he died.

    Writing is a good way to heal. I hope it works for you like it did for me.

    Btw, I find it ironic that we share the same birthday.

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