Dear Isobel:
Today, at 5:40am, you turned two. You’ve been two spiritually for about 11 months, but at that time, your body caught up with your soul. I could start off witha deluge of memories from the duration of your life. I could create a photo collage of all of your best images – even those from when you still looked like an angry, old man. Worse, I could talk about what I want for you in the next year.
I’m not sure why it’s worse to me, but it has something to do with plans never coming to fruition and me being a big, fat liar. I don’t want to break any promises or oaths to you.
So I will write about who you are today and what you can accomplish and the emotion you stir in me.
Tomorrow. When we’re both happier with each other. Because today, when I sang you ‘Happy Birthday’ first thing in the morning and you slapped me across the face…it kind of set us up for a crappy day.
I still love you, even though you’re such a meanie, sometimes.
And I acknowledge that I am, too.
Love,
Mama
