Before this year, the last time my birthday fell on a Friday was 2017. After work that day, Margaret and I drove to the shore. As we sat at the bar at Bar A in Lake Como, Mom called me. She wished me Happy Birthday and, as I always did, I reminded her that I should be wishing her Happy Birthday as she was the one who determined the day on which I was born. I, on the other hand, had little to no say in the matter.
It was - as it always was - a very short conversation. Among Mom's many gifts was her ability to complete a conversation in fifty-nine seconds or less. Even on birthdays. She told me she loved me. I told her I loved her. Right before we said our goodbyes, I asked her whether she could process the fact that her youngest child was now fifty. For a moment or two, she said nothing. Then she said, "Well, you'll always be my baby."
Four months later, to the day, Mom died. She was ten days short of her own birthday...
...sixty-eight months later and I am still following her trail of light.
-AK
Happy Birthday 🎂 Mom was in hard labor with you the day before and was determined not to have you on Groundhog Day.
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