Hey Ma - you hated when I called you that. Meant to post on your birthday. Time got away from me with the elections and all. Wonder what you would of made of it. You weren’t political, but I think the vitriol of the elections would of made you sad. You were so hard to anger, but were fierce in your love of us and those you loved.
Been thinking about your 99th birthday - Egads. Dad would of been 103. All the changes in the world - the things you’ve seen and those that have happened since your death: world war, a-bombs, TVs, electric typewriters, computers, cell phones, COVID... But the things you cared about were us - your kids.
I wish you could see my home - yup an actual home with Rachel and Jody and zac and pasang and little Pemba you held as a baby. We have a garden. I have a cat. Not a bit like squeaky in her younger days, fiercesome hunter- killer of squirrels. I remember how long it was before she’d deign to eat wet food. He’s more of a fraidy cat. Our chickens chase him from time to time, though they’ve settled into a state of detante. He watches, they don’t chase, he doesn’t run. But he loves me. Bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck. Spoons with me at night, reminding me that I am loved - like you loved me, loved us.
Miss you mom. Love you. Happy Birthday.
Debra, your daughter who knows she was loved.