Today would have been my Mom’s birthday. She would have been 64 if she did not lose her battle with alcoholism.
I had something else written out, but as I prepared to post, it did not feel right. It felt too seriously, so instead I decided to share some of my favorite stories of her.
I brought her to see Bad Grandpa and she thought Johnny Knoxville was the funniest thing ever. I thought she was going to be offended but she died laughed.
She broken her femur before I was born. The hospital tried to take her pants with hospital shears. She told then they were not going to cut her goddamn Levi’s off and proceeded to get them off.
She loved our dog Birdie. She treated her like her first grandchild. There were always treats and new toys for Birdie when we visited. Bird was allowed to drool on everyone, jump on furniture and reign general chaos. One time me and my now husband caught Mom feeding Birdie half of a steak. We let them have their moment.
Most importantly she was the first person to believe in my writing. She believed in me before I did. She told me I had a gift with words, and encouraged me to keep writing. More than anything, that has stayed with me.
My Mom had a strong, stubborn, loving personality. Much of my strength and tenacity comes from her. I am proud to be her daughter and carry those traits into my life. She was an alcoholic, but first and foremost she was a person. A person that I deeply love.
Happy Birthday Mom.