It was a grey day in Toronto today; not unlike my 30th birthday a few days ago. It was April 26 and the messages and calls started coming through early in the morning. But a specific number was never displayed on my caller id and I didn't hear the rendition of “Happy Birthday” that I most wanted to hear. This birthday was not only significant as I “crossed over” to new age territory, but it also marked the first milestone that mummy and I would not be able to celebrate in some way.
I've begun to think about mummy's death as The Long Silence. Living “in foreign” and away from all the things that would remind me of her makes me feel like I'm in a cocoon. And when I realize, in those quiet moments, that I can't simply reach out to her or dial the first phone number I ever had and hear her laughter as she admits to "beppin" in front of the T.V. that is watching her more than she is watching it, I panic. My heart races, my breath quickens and I relive that moment. The news is made fresh once again. And, depending when the moment hits, I swallow hard, force my breathing to slow down and refocus.
On my birthday I tried very hard to remember her singing. But in the end, I was not quite sure whose voice I was hearing, hers or mine. I'm still hoping for the former.
