I Like Her Sometimes.

Today is my mother’s birthday. She is 50…. I don’t remember, and don’t feel like doing the math. I am also not about to figure out what year it was last time I was speaking to my mother on her birthday. What  year was the last time I  acknowledged this day as being significant for more than the birth of Dr. King? I know I haven’t bought a gift in the 2000’s.

My sister taught her how to text. I received a reminder full of grammatical errors yesterday. It’s funny, this space. We’re cordial. We joke. She makes me candy and gumbo. I like her sometimes. We don’t talk about the serious things. Leave it up to me, we will never talk about the past. I know exactly where the line is drawn in the sand and I refuse to go near it. This line doesn’t exist for her, but that’s what the “end call” button is for. I’ve accepted that I’ll never get an apology, or anything remotely close. But it wasn’t needed for forgiveness.

Today is my mother’s birthday. I’m going to call her. I’m going to buy her a card. I’ll probably give her a hug. I might even tell her I love her. I do. I’m discovering that I always did in one way or another. I’m also going to thank God for healing.  Thank Him for progress. Thank Him for the desire to tell my mother happy birthday again.

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