Happy birthday mom

Today is my mom’s birthday. If cancer has taught me anything good so far, it’s that having your mom close by when you’re going through shit is beyond a gift. My mom may have brought me up to be a fighter, but that would have been poor comfort without her actual self in the same city. And this isn’t just about taking my girls on the bad nights and just generally coming through on anything I need. It’s about being my friend through this whole thing.

So here’s the thing about my mom. I think she knows how fair, smart, loving, light-hearted, sharp-tongued and unbelievably generous she is. She’s had enough of me complaining in my growing up years about how she always has to see the other side in any dispute to know that she’s a poster girl for empathy. I also think she might know what a supportive, non-micro-managing, honest, emotionally tender but strong influence she’s been on all three of her kids. That’s the thing about my mom. She’s pretty self-aware.

What she may not know is how beautiful she is. I don’t mean that whole you need to know her to see her beauty kind of thing. I mean what a knock-out babe she was in her youth and what a knock-out babe she continues to be. I know she’ll think I’m being silly writing this, but it’s true. I watch her sometimes when we’re talking or when she’s cooking or playing with my daughters or sitting with my dad and I see this Italian queen, with olive skin and a twinkle in her eye and I feel as proud as I can feel about having such a lovely for a mom.

If I’m dealing with the c-dawg the way I am – refusing to give in to the maudlin (most of the time), staying in the moment (usually) and focusing on what it’s all going to teach me about my life (generally), it’s because of her. And not because she had it too, although that’s part of it, but because I want to show her that everything she did for me, everything she continues to give, will be for something.

She was the first person I called when I was diagnosed in June and 37 years into our relationship, she still managed to surprise me. I was barely holding it together and was worried her crying might send me spiralling again. She was upset, to be sure, but she was strong with me. “Aw, shit,” were the first words out of her mouth. Like me, I know she took some time to wallow in it after our call, but one day later, I got this note:

I just wanted to let you know that I think I had an epiphany earlier today. I have been moping around, getting teary eyed every time I thought of this damn cancer thing. I now have decided that there will be only optimism and sunshine around when we get together. You are a strong, healthy young woman and with the help of your friends (your dad and I count ourselves as your friends too, you know) we are going to get you through the rough parts. Pete can depend on us for anything needed and we can drop everything at a moment's notice to lend a hand. We can even stay in "nana/poppa's" bed at your house if you need us to, at any time. Okay with you?

Okay with me.

So happy birthday, mom. You’re a huge-hearted warrior woman and you should know how much I love you while you’re still so here.