It’s almost my birthday. I am definitely at the age when birthdays aren’t fun. I’m happy I’ve made it another year, but facing the reality that I am indeed getting older. In anticipation of this year’s festivities, I got my hair done. I got a sassy cut and added some more dye to cover the grey. I also ordered several beauty products for age related maladies. I got a cover up for dark spots and a wrinkle serum. It was hard to choose between the cream and the serum, but in the end “serum” sounded more serious. I honestly thought that I would be more of an age gracefully-who gives a fuck kind of middle aged woman. Apparently not. All this work to look younger has a lot to do with looking older. But there is another reason I get maudlin around my birthday. It’s also the day my mom died.

If you haven’t had your mom die on your birthday, let me tell you, and I’m not gonna lie, it sucks. Nothing helps you face your own mortality than losing your mom. At the time, it seemed like a good idea. On the night of March 11th, the 6th night she was in the hospital, I was sitting by her bed. It was probably 11PM. She was so done. I mean painful to watch done. And as I said goodnight I got pretty choked up, because I worried that she would die during the night and I wouldn’t be there. On the other hand, I worried that she would suffer through the night and still be there in the morning. At the time I wasn’t even thinking about my birthday, I just wanted her not to suffer anymore. I had read before that when someone is holding on at the end you should give them permission to leave and assure them that you would be okay. So I stroked her hair and said something like: “Hey mom. It’s okay. Maybe you are worried about dying on my birthday, but if you want, you can just let go. In fact, it would be the best birthday gift ever to know that you are no longer suffering. 43 years ago you welcomed me into the world and now I get to say goodbye. It’s okay, mom. It’s full circle. I love you.” She took my advice.

The next day. March 12th. My birthday. She died.

Full Circle.

It really did seem like good advice at the time.

So I look in the mirror and I see the grey, the wrinkles, the spots, and I feel…..afraid. And sad. The hair cut is cute. Maybe the make up will be magic. But the truth is there, underneath. I am older. And she is gone. I can’t cover those things with dye, or serum.