Mom turns ninety-one in a few days. I haven’t seen her since my visit in June. Back then I worried because I didn’t feel sad; I didn’t really feel anything. Uncomfortably numb. Deep denial she was dying. Or perhaps denial of my impending grief. I struggled throughout the following months to understand why I didn’t feel sad that she would soon die. Reports of her declining health didn’t awaken my grief. I said, “She’s old, she’s going to die, she’s had a good life...” Last year when Mom turned ninety the family gathered to celebrate with her. This year Mom’s birthday celebration will coincide with Thanksgiving. Mom says, “I just want to live until my birthday...” At last sadness engulfs me, tears fill my eyes, I feel the pain of loss. I will go to visit Mom in a few weeks, not to celebrate her birthday, but for a chance to say goodbye, and to grieve.
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