So, today is one year since my mum ‘left us.’ That is a sugar coated way of saying she died – yes. She didn’t choose to go. She was ready because she had to be, but she would have stayed if she could have. She wanted to be here for my wedding, to see her grandkids grow, to have another Christmas or ten. She was a celebrator of anniversaries. Of all kinds.
My dad, on the other hand, is not. When I send him a happy birthday message or a happy fathers day joke or something, his response is almost always, “you know I don’t celebrate anniversaries.” I usually smirk and remind him that he sends me a happy birthday email every year.
Back when I was a student, and devouring topics related to anthropology and sociology, we talked about rites of passage and the importance they hold in human culture. Shichi-Go-San in Japan, the quinceañera in Latin communities, the graduations, birthdays, weddings, baby showers, etc. All these are representations of life’s moments and how we celebrate the passage of time. They are all important ways of remembering, making memories, and celebrating life. So, today as I celebrate the anniversary of my mum’s death I embrace the anniversary of holding her hand, crying with my brother, and saying goodbye to a love that held me in sad moments and celebrated with me in happy ones.
When she was young, she travelled a lot. Have I ever told you the story of her smuggling an amphora from Turkey wrapped in a baby blanket? I am looking forward to seeing her slides from her travels and remembering her stories of all the men who wanted to marry her. And then there is the calendar. She was a tourist, and had a short lived modelling career in her 20s.
She loved this picture and it hung on every wall she ever had. I celebrate her as this lady pretending to wash laundry for a Turkish calendar. I celebrate her spontaneous singing and her dance moves. I don’t have pictures that can capture those. I celebrate her quirky style assertions- I cringe, but I celebrate them. I celebrate all of who she was. She could get me riled up like no one else. And she loved me like no one else.
Today is not a day for her, though. She isn’t here to celebrate. I will do the things she would have loved to do today. I am wearing her yellow shoes. I am going to spritz a bit of her favourite perfume on myself later when we go to her favourite restaurant. I celebrate her saying, “let’s go somewhere nice for supper, like Red Robin!” Hahaha. I will let myself feel the sad thoughts, but try to focus on the happy anniversaries we shared.
I will carry on her tradition of celebrating all the special days in life, but I may not decorate the house for Valentine’s day like she did. I will continue to feel the levity of celebration and the community that comes with marking a day in a special way.
I love you and miss you, iMum.
karlamarlablog 