I wish she knew it is her birthday

The first alarm went off on Friday, a full week before her birthday.

My mom didn’t ask for much on her birthdays. She wasn’t so forgiving for mother’s day or most holidays, but her birthday could have easily been a whisper on the wind, diluted and disappearing into every day life.

Maybe that’s why I liked to make a big deal about it. She asked for nothing for her birthday, so I naturally wanted to offer her everything.

Of course I navigated these feeling with the guilt of any grown adult who could rarely, if ever, be in the same place at the same time as my mother on her birthday.

I bought and sent her gifts that cost too much money. I indulged her weird cravings for odd possessions. I showered her in books. I bought gifts of survival and aging preparedness in a futile battle against her irrational fear of ending up homeless and crippled. I spent what I could, with it never being enough to break the guilt of not providing the one thing she would have loved. A day with me.

So I added in extra reminders to my phone. I would call her specifically to wish her a happy birthday countdown. One week until birthday lift off. Hoping this would help her feel her birthday was even more special.

And when the alarm went off on that Friday. I thought about calling her, but I paused and I remembered the time I called her six or seven years before.

While my mother never made a big deal about her birthday, that was the first time she had ever forgotten her birthday. She was living in the house I grew up in. But my father had left over a year ago. My brother and I had been gone for more than a decade. And yet she had stayed with only memories for roommates until she eventually realized memories can’t help pay a mortgage.

That year I called her and as soon as she answered I yelled, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY WEEK!!!!!”

Her response was paused and confused, “Are you sure? Is it really that time already?”

The worry I felt then, was not so large I couldn’t push it into the part of me where I put all worries small enough to be ignored. So that’s what I did. I pushed it down. I chatted excitedly on the phone. And I was the only one who would have known I paused after hanging up the call to consider my mother living in that house all alone while the days slipped by.

I remembered her forgetting and I did not call my mom when the alarm went off. I put my phone down and went back to bed.

The next alarm didn’t come until Wednesday. Two whole days before her birthday.

This time I did call.

I got the ever infuriating message of, “I’m sorry. The person you are trying to reach has a voicemail box that has not been set up yet. Please try your call again later. Goodbye.”

Hadn’t she asked me to set up her voicemail? My mom had a new phone every six months to a year because she would lose it or drop it, but not once had she figured out how to set up a voicemail.

I should have done that for my mom when she asked so I wouldn’t be sitting here now listening to the recording of a woman’s voice telling me to call back later. But that’s the way it goes. You visit. You get busy catching up. You can’t get to it all.

The third alarm went off on Thursday. Birthday Eve, if you will. I looked down at my phone on my desk at work and I thought about calling her again, but my break wouldn’t be for another three hours.

I thought about her last birthday. It was by far the biggest gesture I had ever made. I was planning to move to Ohio, and I wanted my mother to be closer. I wanted to share this time of being close to family with her. So her birthday present last year was that I would pay for all of her moving expenses to get from North Carolina to Ohio. I wanted her to move without worry or burden or excuse. She was blown away by the gesture. She was thrilled and absolutely terrified. But she agreed.

She understood, of course, that I couldn’t be there to physically move her. I had to work, after all, but the gift of paying for it was grand and we excitedly talked about all of the things we would do once she moved here.

It was a good birthday, in the way of a mother’s birthday. It was the first time I didn’t feel guilt for not being there. I still wasn’t there, but I gave the gift of being closer in the near future. I have the gift of more time soon.

And with that memory I put my phone back in my bag and turned back to work.

I worked through my lunch break. I didn’t call my mom.

The final alarm went off on the Friday of her actual birthday. The big day had arrived. And this time when it went off I opened it to the edit screen. I scrolled down to the bottom where it says “Delete Event” and I held my thumb in space hovering over it.

I thought of how my mother moved here after her birthday. I thought of how busy it was those first two months. I thought of how she told me she would be up to seeing me more once she got settled. I thought of how I said I could visit more after the busy holiday season at work.

I thought of how she died in December.

Suddenly and unexpectedly. Only a few months after moving to Ohio.

And I thought about how I wasn’t sure which pain was worse. Allowing this alarm to continue to go off every year after her death or allowing my thumb to drop and forever silence an alarm meant to celebrate her life.

I didn’t call my mom. But I also didn’t delete the alarm.

As usual, I don't feel it is enough, but it’s all I am able to give. Happy birthday, Mama.