In past years, when my mom’s grief still consumed and defined me, I spent her birthday doing things that she loved to do. At the time, it felt like it was a way to honour and hang on to her. I now know, that was just grasping at the past, at what once was.

Today, I did me. Me consists of sleeping in, and being woken up early by my dad, even though I told him I would call him when I woke up. Then me is meeting my dad for brunch at his fav spot. Then me is meeting my trainer at the gym and having a good session, not only physically, but mentally too. Then me is going to Whyte Ave. Parking, walking, having lunch alone, sitting at the bar of a fav restaurant, having a beer. Then hitting up stores and businesses for donations for an upcoming fundraiser event, for the burlesque troupe I am in. Then me is shopping and making purchases at three of my fav stores. Then me is heading home, being lazy, having another beer, and then another one. And now me is going to paint my nails in front of trashy tv.

Turns out, me is her. And I just have to be me.

Happy Birthday Mom

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