54.

Dear Mom,

April 2nd was your birthday. At first I was going to write you a letter.. then I wasn't. Then I was, then I wasn't. Now I am.

Sara and I talked about how it was your birthday and she asked how old you would have been. When I told her 54, I quickly also stated how much you would have hated it. The thing about telling Sara things is that I can't always count on an agreement response, which is a good (great!) thing. Instead of agreeing with me she said "you don't know that."

She's so right. I don't know that. I quickly realized that you probably would have done jumping jacks to make it to 54. You would have scaled mountains and been the champ of any ice cream eating contest if promised life to 54 instead of 46.

All these years I've sort of passed it by as if you would not have enjoyed getting older, without acknowledging the fact that you would have done anything to be with me still. You would have loved 54 and embraced the wrinkles and grey hair if it meant seeing your grandchildren grow up.

You deserved to be here.

I realize that I'm telling you what you already know, but an epiphany can be the craziest thing sometimes. I should tell you too that it didn't make me more sad or resentful that your not here with me. It just made me realize that I can't brush it off as another day on the calendar either. I think it is important to celebrate who you are and it reminded me that I need to keep my memory of you true to who you were.. a fighter. Not a wimp who would have bowed out over grey hair and wrinkles.

So happy birthday, Mom... a few days late, but better than never!

Your Daughter,