Note to Self

Next time I get all bent out of shape that nobody remembers I'm struggling, I can just think about this morning when I talked to my own mom and forgot to ask how she was doing.  Today is my brother Stan's 54th birthday.  My mom has dealt with 39 of them since he's been gone.  I wonder if she has ever said,  "One year closer to seeing him again"?

I'm his own sister and I forget.  I should probably cut people some slack.  I can't even post a photo of him here because I only have a couple and I don't know where they are.  I wish I could remember more about him--anything really.  I don't have any memories of him.  None.  I hope Mikey remembers Ian, heck, even Lucy--I don't remember much of being 10 or 13.  I think Lu'll do pretty well.

I wonder what birthdays mean on the other side of the veil.  Probably nothing.  They are probably like the day we leave home to go to college or a mission or whatever.  We remember the general time, but the actual date, not so much.  Maybe they celebrate homecoming dates on the other side.  Maybe they sing welcome home, just like in the Michael W. Smith song that I love.

I should be writing about the lovely Christmas we had--we did, but instead I want to record the dream I woke up to this morning.  We were in Morgan at the grocery store and we had 2 cars.  I threw one set of keys to Ian and told him to drive the truck home (I guess just to my parents).  Well, he was thrilled, jumped in and TORE out of the parking lot with me waving my arms and screaming--as I realized that we never got a chance to teach him to drive.  It was great.  I've been thinking for days about the rituals we won't get to share with him like graduations and mission and wedding and babies.  Maybe my subconscious just couldn't stand it and had to  create a ritual for me.

I miss my son today.  I can picture my mom missing hers--she'd probably have great-grandchildren by now.  That's a lot of rituals.