Mom

I've been in kind-of a reflective mood the past few days. Friday was my mother's birthday; she would have been 84, had she lived. She died this past November, so this was the first of her birthdays since she died. It felt strange, wanting to call her to wish her Happy Birthday, and knowing that I couldn't. I felt as though her birthday should be commemorated somehow. In the days leading up to her birthday, I considered texting my sister and suggesting we both find a card Mom would have liked, then sending it to each other. Or maybe simply a text to each other on her birthday. I don't know...

In the end, I bought a cake mix and a can of frosting. It was a yellow cake and chocolate frosting, the type of cake Mom always baked me for my birthday. I figured I'd bake it Friday afternoon, but Friday got away from me, as did the weekend. Maybe tomorrow.

I brought a few things out to the recycling bin this evening, and thought back to when we moved to Florida, a life-time ago. We left upstate New York the last week of February on a day when the wind chill index made it feel like 40 below. Mom and Dad were getting divorced, which is seldom an easy thing. Mom had her brother, my Uncle D., accompany us in his car as far as Springfield, Massachusetts, a city that took us about 250 miles out of the way en route to Florida. Don't ask me why; the logic escapes me. Maybe it was the map-reading thing; maybe it was...well, who knows why.

The next day, Uncle D. headed back home to Aunt N., while Mom, my sister A. and our brother G. headed south. Mom had mentioned she felt horrible. She had debated whether to have us take her to the nearest hospital, but figured she had just enough money to get us to Florida without an extra stop. So she handed me the car keys and the map of the eastern U.S., reminded me that I had a New York state learner's permit, then told me to get us to St. Pete. Fortunately, I can read maps just fine, otherwise we might have ended up in Nome, Alaska. (Passing through customs twice, though - once going into Canada, once leaving - might have tipped me off.)

Mom seemed a little strange during the trip, but A. and I chalked it up to a combination of three major life changes: Mom was turning 40 (a big deal back when she hit 40), she was divorcing Dad, and we were moving a little more than 1,300 miles (and numerous states) away, more than 1500 miles, if you include the side-trip through Massachusetts. By the time we got to Grandma and Grandpa's the day before Mom's birthday, she was in bad shape. In fact, she spent most of her birthday in the nearest emergency room.

Finally, a week or so later, she started feeling better, more herself. It wasn't until years later, while in her early 50s and married to my first step-dad, that she was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. Apparently, when we'd thought was a bad case of what my younger two and I call the ditzy doodles on the trip was really her introduction to MS, which soon went into a long remission.

During the first month or so in Florida, we stayed with Mom's parents, who lived in an apartment on the second floor. Every evening, after dinner, I'd walk along the long attached balconies in front of the upper floor apartments, descend the stairs at the end of the building, then walk the second floor balcony on the building behind Grandma and Grandpa's, eventually ending up back where I'd started. The weather was exactly the way it is now: definitely warmer than upstate New York, while nowhere near as hot as it gets here during the summer. The air even smells fresh.Whenever the weather is like this in the evening, especially in March, I can't help but remember our first Florida March, and Mom's first Florida birthday. Now it's Mom's first birthday since she's been gone. And while our relationship had been difficult most of the past few decades (I'd always been a Daddy's girl), we'd slowly gotten somewhat closer, almost friendly the last couple of years. I miss her.

The cake gets baked tomorrow, even though it's a few days late. Happy Birthday, Mom.