I came across a VHS tape of your birthday from about 1988 where our family was gathered around the living room while we watched you open presents and making your comedic jokes in between. I smile thinking of how funny you were. As you opened gifts from Billy and I, which consisted of new pots and pans, skillets, and the like, you commented that your family must be telling you something...to cook for them! The family chuckled but I know you prided yourself in cooking for us all the time. It was the Italian thing to do. I pride myself too. You'd laugh at the Christmas Eve menu I have planned this year. Baked ziti, calamari, salads, breads, shrimp and an attempt on a gingerbread cake with cream cheese frosting. "That's not enough food, Maria" you would probably tell me.
You also made certain that after each birthday to state your age with pride. "I'm 60 years old, Maria. I wasn't born yesterday." It was the last age you got to state. Gone too soon, for sure. A month away from reminding me that you were 61.
I'm sitting here, at the cemetery right now with Teresa and Lena. We are trying to keep warm and their snacks are all over their faces. Despite all the great memories I have with you, I still think about what could have been if you were here. How much you would love the girls with or without snack on their faces. The planning to get together today to celebrate with you and sing Happy Birthday. Your grandchildren would rush up to you upon getting through the door and bombard you with hugs and kisses. You'd have a sauce cooking, and I'm sure you'd been sneaking yummy treats to all the girls. We would enjoy an early dinner and "surprise" you with a cake and Teresa would give you a card she made herself. It would have been a wonderful day indeed.
It is okay, though. The girls are getting to know you through me. My stories, our old home videos, and the traditions I've carried with me. I just wish you could be here to blow out your candles today. Happy heavenly birthday, Mom.
