It's after 11:00. I should be in bed. Tomorrow I get to go to school with Ruby and Sophie and play with the babies. Then I get to come home to warm, happy and sticky-with-sugar chaos. My niece will celebrate her first birthday here, having traveled all the way from sunny CA to have the big family party in Texas. The Texas Wilsons have definitely reached critical mass.
Sweet babies. It is a treat for us.
But it also makes me think about my mom. Gone for 8 months now. A year ago, she asked me nearly every time I spoke to her, "What day is Kim due?"
"On my birthday."
"On my birthday."
"On my birthday."
Over, and over I answered her...
In retrospect, I see how firmly her illness had grasp of her then.
And so this is where I'm at. Every woman's story at some point. New life is irrepressible: my splendid niece turns 1 year. Tomorrow we'll share this joy as an extended family. And I will get those warm fuzzies that children so easily elicit.
Meanwhile, not in the back of my brain, but right there in front, will be thoughts of my mother -- her death, her giving me life, her immense enjoyment of the intoxicating preciousness of babes.
She's alive in these moments, these thoughts. And I don't know how to let her go or even if I should. Where is my new beginning?
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