Happy 60th Birthday. I hope your day is filled with Love.
I said it. I meant it. Your flowers, with that message attached, will arrive on Saturday. Your 60th birthday. It didn’t take time to think up that message. It came as naturally to me as a knee jerk at the doctor’s office when they check your reflexes. I felt relieved by that fact- knowing it wasn’t forced or fake. I could have written a lot of things in that card. For example-
I wish we were closer.
I hope to see you soon.
I miss you.
But none of those things would be true. I just celebrated my birthday and I was with the person I love more than anyone in the whole wide world-the one person in this world who gets me, who gives unconditionally, who just does the right thing.
Doing the right thing comes in a lot of forms. For me, a big part of it is trusting that someone will what’s in your best interest; they’ll reciprocate without you having to ask; they give of themselves equally. They are like your star power-being around them makes you feel superhuman. They encourage you, they make you better, they are there for you when things get ugly.
On Saturday, I do hope that my mother’s day is filled with love. I hope that someone takes her out for lunch, that the flowers I sent her are not the only ones she receives, that someone is there to sing her happy birthday. I hope, most of all, that she does not feel obligated to call me to say Thank You. She didn’t call me on my birthday, and that silence is so incredibly loud. It’s the kind of silence that echoes inside you if you let it. I don’t anymore. I have no expectations of her, but I do choose to do what feels right in my heart. I choose not to pursue contact with my mother anymore, because it does me more harm than good and I in a good place. I am finally ready to give and receive love and I don’t want that door to close. I am, however, still happy to push love in her direction.
“..close some doors. not because of pride, incapacity or arrogance, but simply because they no longer lead somewhere.” — paulo coehlo