Today I turn 29.
I always do some self reflection at the end of every year and to say it simply, I am not the same woman I was last year. This year changed me.
I keep expecting a text from you, using your endearing nickname for me “Happy birthday my rosebud”. But it won’t come. And for that my heart aches today.
The woman her grew me in her womb, then woman who nurtured me and fed me, the woman who’s tender care met me at every illness even into adulthood, is gone and it’s still a nightmare I live out every day. The pain, loss, sadness never escape me.
After I became a mother, I was always conscience to thank my mother for her motherhood. I understood and appreciated it more intensely. She mothered so well.
Today I have so much to celebrate. So many blessings in my life. My strong, unwavering, kind husband. My ever growing, energetic, sweet boy. The precious “blueberry” growing in my womb. Our home. Our community. Our tribe. Our patriarch, and his faith. I celebrate the love of my mother. Who’s love inspires me in my own journeys of motherhood and wifehood.
But to say I miss you is the most gigantic understatement. And though I count my blessings, I yearn for you. Your hugs, your kisses, your words, your affirmation, your tender care, your advice, your listening ear. I want to feel your cheek against my own. I want to hold your hand. I want to hear your laugh. I want to sit in the presence of your wisdom. Thank you for loving me so well. Mama, I miss you so.