It's my mom's birthday today. She would have been 83 years old.

I find myself having a hard time thinking of something new to say about my mom, but that doesn't mean that I shouldn't say anything. The emptiness is still there, and I'm not fool enough to try to fill it up with anything; that's one hole that is going to remain empty and to try to fill it almost seems wrong. I don't want a replacement for her love; there isn't any. She was a unique person in the world; kind, compassionate, loving, generous, funny, open minded and so many, many other things. I'll never know anyone quite like her again, and I'll never feel anything like the love she gave to me again, either.

And yet...something within me struggles to survive, as it has done for five long strange years. There is something in this frustrating, frightening, bizarre life I lead that must have a purpose. There's a reason I didn't just turn right around and walk into the river behind our house after she died, and I don't think it was just fear of the unknown.

My mom tied up so much of herself in me. She didn't "live through me" in the way some parents do, tasking their kids to be all the things they never could be. But she invested her own purpose in me, threw her seemingly unending love into this small, frightened and awkward child and hoped for the best. She had lost a lot in her life; her dear, dear mother that she adored and with whom she was almost like one person. She lost a lot of her freedom when she married my dad. Her days of spontaneity and an unstructured schedule were pretty much over. She'd say she chose it willingly, and that she loved my Dad (and I know she did) but her life was forever changed and I'm sure she missed a lot of the old ways that she and her mother shared.

So there was me. There was my brother, too, but he was mostly my dad's child and my dad had much more influence over him. I was Mom's. I liked to sleep late, and I liked to talk and I wasn't afraid to be un-macho. I was absent minded and couldn't pound a nail into a board if my life depended on it. I loved old movies and liked to talk about issues and the past and just about anything. Whether that was all because of growing up with more influence from Mom or just something I inherited I have no idea. It doesn't matter. That was how I was.

We didn't always agree and we weren't completely alike, of course. I ended up trying to "mother" my own mother a bit too much and I know she had a hard time seeing me as an adult who had to make his own decisions. But we loved each other. Whatever stupid or silly or inappropriate things we sometimes said (or did) they were done or said out of love and honest affection and care about the other's well being.

I keep thinking about us playing games together. For some reason that's an image and memory that keeps streaming back to me. It may be because it's something I loved to do, or it may be because it's an example of the way she doted on me and sacrificed so much time to do things with me. I know she liked it but I'm sure there were many times when she would have liked to do something else besides the umpteenth game of "Which Witch?" or "Bumper Shot". But that was Mom. And I was so lucky to have her.

And she's been gone from my life for five long hard years. There's so much I want to talk to her about, to confide in her about. There's so many things I'm afraid of, things that only she could ever "make better". I know she's here, around me, caring and loving. And I know in my heart that some day, in the sweet bye and bye, I will see her again. But this in-between time is so very, very hard. I want to be a good person and do things that she would be proud of and be the type of person she would be proud of. But sometimes I'm just so very tired, and I know I fail. I get lonely and cold and frightened without her. I can only hope that she knows how hard I try and how difficult it is. I'm sure she does; she went through the same feelings for 44 years after the death of her mother. I'm sure she is with her mother now; what a glorious reunion that must have been.

I love you, Mom. I sure do miss you, too. Someday we'll play Rummy again, and color eggs and wrap presents and watch TV and talk and eat again. I miss those things so much. I hope you know I always, always, loved you so very much. And still do.

In the mean time, all I can do is my best. Or, as the quote I love says, "my version of my best".

Happy Birthday, Mom, wherever you are. I'm sure it's someplace peaceful and loving, just as you deserve.