July 30th, 1945

When Hollywood glitz and glamour
Were yet cast in cool, static gray,
You graced the world with a splash of color
On this special day--

The strength of your newborn wail
Was blessedly heard across the sea,
The telephone tore the impartial veil
Between "over there " and our land of the free.

I imagine you were a handful
Ever too quick to accept a dare--
And your tongue must've sassed a smart mouthful--
Accompanied by that brazen, blue-eyed glare.

Whimsical girl to young woman bloomed--
With instinctual moxie no one could teach,
Heads turned, you knew they were doomed,
To fall head o'er heels for Ms. Riviera Beach.

You searched for your honey-talkin' bad boy--
Found him on the wrong side of the tracks--
Wind-tossed hair, motor's rumblin'-- pure joy--
With him, you felt free, and able to relax.

Despite the poor odds, he remained true,
Worked harder and longer to give you the best--
His head never turned--he loved only you--
And eventually he passed every test.

Three children were born, not too far apart,
With us came a certain love like no other
Our wide, trusting eyes pierced your heart like a dart--
And you rose gracefully to heed the calling of Mother.

I've said in other ways, in other places
How much "misfit me" must have been a frustration--
Me, the Sprite who couldn't tie her laces--
You--a goddess in perfect presentation.

But you still loved me, held me gently in your arms --
The rhythmic creak of rocking chair--
The soothing fingers gliding through my hair...

Fast forward to now, nearly ten o'clock
Lost--not lonely--just alone
I'm so far away-you'd not know where to knock
And I feel like I need you here to be "home."

As I lie down to finally sleep,
I whisper-sing the song you left on my lips when you went away---
And tears bubble up from inside, so deep--
The song trails off, I close my eyes and quietly say..."Happy Birthday."

My mom was born on 30 July, 1945. She passed away last September from two broken hips complicated by end - stage COPD.
I wrote this poem with the intent of imagining how I would have pictured her living life. But that wouldn't be a fair representation. My mom held her life stories deep inside her heart and in that way, didn't like to share.

I think for her to share her stories about growing up, love, and life in general, she feared she expose herself to judgment or ridicule or even simple vulnerability. My mother didn't like to feel vulnerable. I guess that's partly where I get that trait from.

My mom died gracefully, in her sleep, with me and Aidan by her side. But she died with so many stories untold. I'm thankful for my aunt and uncle who have told me the bits and pieces of her life that they were a part of.

But her life remains mostly a mystery to me, a mystery I will never be able to solve until I, too, pass through the Heavenly door.

Mom, if by some way you're reading this over my shoulder as I type this, know that I love you and didn't forget your birthday. I miss you.