She would have been eighty today, I mull over as I get ready and head off to work. I put out the dog and notice daffodils from bulbs she bought me two years ago are in full bloom, obviously confused by a few wintery warm days.
I'd have called her first thing, wrestled with a gift idea, marshaled the forces for a strong show for a get-together. She'd have repeated the mantra -- 'I don't need anything, just all of you here' -- as if that wasn't a feat in itself with grown sons immersed in their lives.
It's strange to have March 3rd come and go without her. I thought this day was only for her. Happy Birthday, Mom.
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