Maybe you can look at it like she's really only 15.25, hehe.
The worst part, however, is that I can't celebrate, physically at least, with her. She passed away in 1994 and missed her 50th and 60th birthdays... and of course, my middle and high school graduations, college, romances, meeting Scott, our engagement... and much more to come.
I love her so much. I miss her more.
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I like to imagine that she's up there in whatever Heaven we paint for ourselves, waiting for a special extra minute in between 11:59 p.m. and 12:00 a.m. that no one else will notice, and then, with all the angels singing behind her, she blows out candles made of bits of clouds, smiles, looks down on me and blows a kiss, letting me know that everything will continue to be OK and that she'll never, ever be forgotten.
Happy Birthday, Mommy.
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