Dear Mom,
I really miss you. I miss your laugh, your stories, and your shrimp pasta salad. I even miss your grumpiness. This Saturday, September 4th, would be your 66th birthday. I feel like this is beyond cruel since you never got to your sixth decade of life. You are forever frozen at 59. I guess some people spend their lives trying to stay at one age but not you. You didn’t seem to mind aging. The greys on your head are still one of my most favorite things about you.
I don’t know what you would think of this year. In my head, I can hear you telling people to grow up and get it together. If you felt that way at the last birthday you ever got to celebrate here on Earth, then I just know you are looking down and rolling your eyes at humanity. Your threshold for BS was always pretty low. I sort of loved that… granted, not when it was directed towards me.
Most nights, I show Rosemary a picture of you on my phone. She loves it. She loves to say, “Hi, Grandma Rosemary.” Then she insists I say, “She lives in Heaven.” From there she has created this little story about you getting into the pool with her but taking off your glasses before jumping in. Then to finish, she kisses my screen to give you a kiss. Considering how much you didn’t really care for swimming, I find this narrative highly amusing. And, my heart always aches a bit after this small exchange. This summer, Rosemary got to see all of her living grandparents- but not you. This summer, we got to spend a ton of time with family- but not you. You never got to meet your granddaughter. Considering how many gifts you shopped for throughout your whole life, not being able to shop, give, and enjoy a gift for your only granddaughter makes me, well, sad. Gifts were your thing. And you were so good at it. Why couldn’t I inherit gift giving from you?
You were never one to give much of what you were feeling away or get overly sentimental. You and dad were very much the same that way. So how I got to be the emotional person I am is still a bit of a mystery. But regardless, I am a sentimental gal. With that said, on Saturday night, I will make Issy watch “Singing in the Rain” with me. We will drink champagne and laugh at the ridiculousness of Lina Lamont together and in my head, I will hear your laugh. God, you laughed at that movie. I think cackled hysterically is actually the more appropriate term.
Anyways, I miss you. And there is nothing more eloquent to say. Happy Birthday, mama.
Love,
Kendall
The Salty Exchange 