Break me

M

November 20, 2013

I was going to make you a card.

I was going to buy you a present.

I mean, your mom only turns 48 once. It's a big deal, isn't it?

Well, it should be. If you were here, I would totally make you a card. But you've been gone a long time. This is the fifth birthday you're missing.

That's a lot of birthdays.

I was just sitting in school last week, and I suddenly realized that my mom's birthday would be coming up. So then I spent the next half hour trying to figure out how old you would be. You would be 48, I figured.

It's your birthday, but I hate you. You knew how excited I used to get for your birthday; you knew. I saved up so many birthday things and presents for you; I had a whole closet stuffed full, and you got to pretend that you were so surprised at it.

There were years of picking out birthday cakes for you with daddy and decorating cookies that just seem wasted. You knew how much I loved making you smile, so why did you take that away from me?

I hate to think of your last birthday. I really do.

But I don't want to forget it. And I want you to remember it.

You were in bad bad shape. It had been like five months after the whole deal of your cancer spreading to your bones and liver. You would hate me for saying that you were in bad shape, but it's true. You were. You were on so many pain medications that you weren't like yourself. You didn't sound like yourself; you didn't look like yourself.

It seemed like all you did was sleep and cry. You hardly ever talked to me anymore. And you slept a lot.

I was worried about you. I tried to help you however I could. I didn't know how to think. I knew you looked terrible, but you said it was just temporary, that you would be better in no time.

You weren't hardly even eating anymore. You were in bad shape.

I remember for your birthday I made you a strawberry cake. I was just twelve, so it wasn't perfect. The frosting was all uneven. I made you a card; I cut out construction paper and colored it. I bought you a present; I got you a notebook with bible verse stationary, and I gave you the rose I had dried last spring.

You didn't want to go out for dinner because you were so sick (you must have been really sick if you didn't want to go out for dinner because you loved doing that). You told dad that you wanted him to bring home steak because you were hungry for steak, but the place was all out of steak so he brought home KFC.

This is one of the low points in my life. I hate thinking about your forty third birthday so much.

You didn't even eat any of the food dad brought home. You tried, and you couldn't because you were just so sick.

You didn't have any of the cake I made for you either. You had like two bites before you set it aside, hoping I wouldn't notice. I did, and you promised me that you would finish it later when you were hungrier. I think dad ended up finishing it for you instead.

We did one family picture with you on your birthday. That picture is actually the only picture there is of you after you got put on all the medication.

I just looked at it the other day. I didn't see it then, when the picture was taken, but I see it now. I didn't realize how bad you really were, but now it hits me in the face. You looked like death.

You tried to smile for the picture then went to bed early. That was the happy 43rd. Oh happy birthday. :(

After your birthday, our family missed Thanksgiving with grandma and grandpa to stay home with you because you were so sick.

After your birthday, you would only live sixteen more days. That's not even a whole month.

2008 was your last year. Your birthday was November 20th. It was on a Thursday.

 Today is also dad's parents 48th anniversary. Ironic. Grandma and grandpa got married the same day that you were born.

Today is also two years since my cat died. Well, she was your cat, but I clung to her like life after you died. But she died too. I lost my piece of you.

Your cat actually died in the night. I couldn't find her that night, November 20, 2011, so I went whining to my brother. He found her in the sewer, and I tucked her in her bed in the garage. The next morning I went to give her her medicine before I left for school, and she was laying there, cold and dead. I screamed and I cried, but there wasn't anything I could do. Your birthday is a terrible day.

Oh, and by the way, my brother and I went on a college tour the other day. Dad is the parent, so he came along too, but my brother and I had to be split up at the end for our academic advising appointments. Since my brother has a more complicated major than me, dad went with him, so I had to go by myself.

Great, just what every girl wants.

All the other kids had both parents with them.

I understand that dad couldn't come; he can't be everywhere at once, but there was no excuse for you not being there. My mom should have been there.

You are the reason for every insecurity I have.

If I spend time thinking about you during the day, it comes back to haunt me. I won't be able to sleep, and when I do, you're in my dreams. Then I'll wake up all cold and uncomfortable and can't fall back to sleep.

Another thing, I kept the dried birthday rose that you didn't get to enjoy. It's in a special drawer that I have reserved just for things that remind me of you. It still looks as good as it was the day I gave it to you.

So Happy Birthday mom.

I didn't get you a present. I will never give you another present ever again as long as I live.

But happy big 48! Too bad you didn't live to see it. Happy birthday. ;(

Grayson