It's always a bad day for me. It's your birthday. You would be 59. Hardly an age that seems old. Every year, I would go to the bakery and order your favourite; strawberry shortcake with whipped topping in the shape of a bible with your favourite psalm on it, Psalm 23. Go to the store and get you some yarn, and some other goofy items that said Mom or Happy Birthday. Get your card and balloons and get all you kids to sign it. Then head over that afternoon and celebrate...

It's been 11 years since I've last done that. 10 years since you've been gone. 10 years of missed memories, and laughs, hugs and tears. Well, not tears. They've been present since you've been gone. Sometimes they don't fall from my eyes. They fall from the trees and flowers, my hopes and dreams. Tears surround me reminding me that a huge part of me is gone and I'm all alone. No one to cheer me on or cheer me up. I hope some part of me can try to believe you are watching down on me, because I don't. I'm not lucky like people who can feel presence or get those signs. It's been 10 years and I still have yet to get a sign. But I'm not mad at you for that. It was stupid of me to think that once a person dies, there is more after. I was just hoping because you left me too soon. I kept your last vm until the phone became obsolete. You weren't even talking to me. You made a mistake and called me and was talking to someone else. Now, I struggle to remember what your voice sounds like. I still have your lock of hair. The last time you cut yourself some bangs. It's all I have left of you. So I keep it wrapped in my drawer. I sit here trying to motivate myself to function because I can't do this without you. But I have no choice. I have to. Happy Birthday Mom. You weren't famous or well-known but you are well-loved and deeply missed