For Mom, on Her Birthday

No woman has shaped me like my mom. She probably would have shaped you too.

I was going to save her for last in this series, but today is her birthday, and today belongs to her.

Before Alzheimer’s took so much from her, I got the chance to ask questions I didn’t know I would someday need answered.

We had already watched Alzheimer’s take so much from her own mom, so when I started noticing little things, I asked her about it all the time. I probably annoyed the snot out of her.

“What if you have Alzheimer’s?”

She said, “So what? What if I do? Something is going to get me one way or another. We aren’t made to last forever, darlin’, and you won’t either.”

I asked, “How am I supposed to make it in a world without you?”

I had called my mom constantly since I moved out at nineteen. She was the first person I wanted to tell everything to.

She said, “I figured out a way, and so will you.”

Then I asked if she was afraid to die.

She looked me in the eyes and said, “No. That’s what we were meant to do.”

I understand those answers now.

Being her caregiver was one of the greatest privileges of my life. Alzheimer’s took a lot, but it didn’t take that conversation.

I’d give anything to hear her tell me to “warsh” something one more time. I spent years telling her there wasn’t an R in wash. I’d never correct her now.

After she was gone, yoga gave me a place to turn inward. It didn’t take away my grief, but it helped me carry it.

Mom was right. She figured out a way.

I’m still figuring out mine.

I’m her living legacy now, and I hope the way I love people reflects the woman who taught me how.

Happy Birthday, Mom.

I know you’re watching from heaven.

I love you, and I miss you every single day.