Happy Birthday Mom
“Someday you’re gonna look back on this moment of your life as such a sweet time of grieving. You’ll see that you were in mourning and your heart was broken, but your life was changing…”
― Elizabeth Gilbert
It’s been six months since you left. I knew you needed to go — your departure was long overdue. You finally went in your sleep — as requested.
I can only hope you are where you’re supposed to be now.
You had to go. It pained me so much to watch you fade away.
But I miss you.
I cannot explain how much I miss you. I am physically hurting — as if life ripped a part of me away from me.
In a way, that is exactly what happened. You have been the greater part of me for most of my life. You were more than my ‘raison d ‘etre’.
You leaned on me, depended on me. So much so that I now realise I was a fool to believe I could ever have a life of my own.
Now I wonder who I am if not your daughter.
What is my purpose if not caring for you?
You were my best friend for longer than I can remember.
Mine is a double loss.
K’s Choice’s song ‘Always Everywhere’ says it perfectly:
“I never took us
for granted and I always knew
You and I are special
But I never knew how much I’d miss you”
That song, which might have been written about us, plays on a constant repeat inside my head ever since you left.
It kills me thinking I may not have done enough, that I wasn’t there for you enough.
It kills me I don’t see you in my dreams, or feel you near.
It kills me I wasn’t there when you went.
It kills me you’re no longer here, a constant in my life.
It kills me.
Both our birthdays, just a day apart, have come and gone. Without you, for the first time in my life. I was reminded of my birth story again.
How I was late, how you did not fancy spending your birthday in the hospital having your caesarean. How you went the very next day instead, and the nurse woke you from your post-op slumber saying, “You have a daughter. Mrs. De Palm,” and your answer was a mere “Oh,” as you had set your expectations on two imaginary boys with little red caps.
Instead, here was your big daughter.
We used to celebrate our birthdays together. I always quietly resented not having a special day of my own, but as you pointed out to me more than once, we couldn’t expect people to turn out two days in a row.
Still, I never much liked my birthday, and that is still the same this year. This year I’ll be missing your obligatory congratulations. This year, I won’t have to rack my brain trying to come up with the perfect gift for you, only to discover later that you never cared for it much.
I am grateful you won’t get to see your 91st birthday. I am glad you’re at least spared yet another birthday you didn’t want.
In a way, I am sorry you’re not around to witness my 60th birthday, though you probably would have found something characteristically unpleasant to say.
I miss you, Mom.
I miss you leaning on me.
I miss the laughs we shared.
I miss your sharp wit, your unfiltered, often harsh comments.
I miss the warmth you were capable of. Your quick mind and attention to detail.
I miss your critical eye, your creativity, and your impeccable taste. You always were so much more talented than you gave yourself credit for.
I miss your quirks, your often inimitable habits.
I miss your scent — the classic Chanel No. 5 and Ô de Lancôme in summer.
I miss your smile.
I knew you were often unhappy, though you took pains to hide it from me.
I hope you are at peace.
Always Everywhere.
‘Always Everywhere’ by K’s Choice
This post was originally published on Medium on June 16, 2026.