Happy Birthday Mother. You would have been sixty two today.

You’ve been gone almost a year. I’ve thought about you a lot over the last eleven months. There were times I laid in bed and cried myself to sleep. Sometimes something would hit me just the right or wrong way and I couldn’t control the tears. Mostly I cried for what could have been and for the pain you must have suffered…and the powerlessness. I’m better now.

I remember your birthday last year. I had wanted to think ahead and get flowers sent to you. I knew they would have meant a lot. But I failed. I have always been bad about birthdays and gifts. Gifts are my last love language. I didn’t get anything in the mail in time for you to get it before your birthday. I called you though. You answered the phone in your sweet sober voice as if you had been waiting for people who loved you to call and wish you a happy birthday. You were excited when I called. You told me about all the calls you had gotten. You told about each one with such joy. I could hear the gratitude in your voice. It made me smile. I loved it when you were pleasant, meek and kind. But that wasn’t often those last couple of years. Mostly, you were spinning out of control. You told me about your friend Maria and how she bought you balloons or something special. I can’t remember exactly but you were so excited. It meant so much to you. My memory fails me. Which I’ve always seen as a blessing for some of the darker things.

I wish I could rewind time and go back to your birthday last year. I wish I would have known it would have been a good day for you and that it would have been your last birthday here on earth. I wish I would have known you would have been sober for the day. I would have taken the day off and driven down to take you to get your hair cut and styled. I would have brought you flowers. I’d have taken you to lunch and splurged on something totally impractical because everything I bought for you was always practical and things you needed…groceries, clothes, detergent, etc. I’m sure you wish for those things too. Or I bet you wish you could have made my birthdays special. I bet you wish you could have driven to me on my birthday and taken me to lunch, to get my hair done or bought me totally impractical things. But you couldn’t. The disease and your actions had stolen everything from you. Everything.

You drove me crazy when I called and you were drunk. It made my heart hurt. It made me cry and it made me mad.

I’ve been able to think differently now that you’ve been gone. I’ve been able to give my heart and mind a rest. I haven’t been consumed with worry, frustration and fear for you. I haven’t been in crisis mode getting phone calls over and over again from police, people worried about you, the hospital or you. I was helpless too. Just like you.

I’ve thought more about you and the things you missed out on. The important things that aren’t things at all.  I’ve read lots of books and stories from other addicts to somehow understand the battle you faced every single day of your life.

I don’t think the things I used to think – like how I got cheated and how MY life was affected by your addiction. No, now I think more about you and the damage it did to you. You not me.

Like how it must have been so hard….

To have gotten pregnant at 16 by a guy who may not have really love you. Did you really love him? You were just a young girl.

To have been married five times and never have known real love…or did you?

To have a mother who you had such a difficult relationship with…

To have felt so misunderstood and judged…

To have gone in and out of jail and spent time in the penitentiary…

To have lost your voting rights forever…

To have missed out on raising your only child…

To have missed out on a relationship with your only two grandsons and other precious family…

To have felt like you were a disappointment to so many people…

To have never have experienced the simple joys of life like I have known them…

To have struggled every single day of your life for things most of us take for granted…

To not have a penny to your name and have to depend on so many people for basic needs and food…

To be taken advantage of and to live with knowing you took advantage of so many…

It must have all been really hard.

I know you struggled more than I ever imagined or could imagine. I know Satan pounced on you and tried to be as destructive as he could, to rob you of every possible piece of joy. He almost succeeded. But when I think back to the phone call from your last birthday…The one where you were sweet, full of gratitude and joy even though you were living in hell – I know that sweetness can only come from our Heavenly Father.

I understand more than I ever have. You did the best you could with what you had. Happy birthday Mother.

Love,

Kandy