52

Today, in my dreams I am waking you up and teasing you about your 52nd birthday. Over the phone, I can practically see your raised eyebrow and your glare as you shush me, probably with something along the lines of a 'bite me'. :) {I knew I'd be able to rub off on you and get you saying that...}

You're be up, getting ready for work, off to see your beloved 2-3 year olds, hoping that noone at work has remembered, and noone makes a fuss.  You'll be out of luck, no doubt. Someone will say something, even though they know you don't celebrate birthdays. You and Dad are having breakfast together, tea and toast for you both; already becoming predictable.

Instead, I woke up. And you've been gone for 8 and a half years. Gone from our lives for close to a decade. It feels like it just happened, how can it possible have been this young since I've hugged you, brushed your hair, sat with you at the kitchen table with a cuppa?  How can it have been that long since we've teased each other, or better, teased the hell out of Dad and Joel?

You have 6 more grandchildren than you had when you left us.  There are 11 now. You'd be a 52 year old woman with 11 grandchildren!  And just as was when the case before you died, noone would believe you. They still wouldn't believe I was your daughter, the 16 years between us looking even less with your flawless skin and youthful face.

I miss you.  I mean, of course I miss you.  I miss you every day. But today, I will indulge in that.  Not in a sad way. I'm not going to {well, I'm going to try not to} cry for you today.  We all know 43 years wasn't enough. We all know it wasn't fair. But today I will indulge in memories of you. The good bits. The 27 years we got together.

I love you, Mum. So much. Sleep. Rest. We miss you.