Birthday wishes and birthday grief...

It was my mother’s birthday this week.

I can’t believe that another year has gone by. Normally, we celebrate birthdays. We eat cake…we sing…we give gifts to commemorate the day their presence altered everything.

December 3rd though, reminds me that the only way I can wish my Mother a happy birthday is by email, because it’s the only contact information that I have for her. It’s been about eight months since I’ve spoken to my mother and over a year and a half since I’ve seen her. Each additional year is like a new chapter in what seems like a never ending struggle for harmony.

My mother is the oldest of four siblings. Her and her sister were adopted at a young age and brought here to Canada by the person that I know to be my grandmother. Her two brothers were separated and from what I know, remained in the United States.

When I was in my first year of university, I answered the phone one Christmas morning as a man asked to speak to my mother. I handed the phone over and shortly there after, my mother was in tears. Her brother had found us. While I’m sure that my mother had her own share of issues to deal with during receipt of this call, for me it was new found family that I was eager to know.

I’ve grown up with the family that my mother was adopted by and though I wouldn’t have had it any other way, I was always very consciously aware of the fact that I didn’t look like anyone else. Our family pictures consisted of countless redheads and then my mother and I…very distinctive black hair and deep, dark eyes. It was obvious that we shared different roots.

For many months after this phone call, I spent hours trying to write to my new uncle and tell him all about myself. I would constantly crumple up the pages and start over for lack of knowing where to begin or end. How do you share a lifetime with someone on paper?? Eventually, I ended up collecting dozens of pictures going back to my childhood and going through each one in chronological order, in hopes that he would be able to see a niece that he never knew. I desperately wanted to know if we looked the same, shared the same taste in food or music…anything that indicated we shared a common past of some kind.

My mother and I have very different opinions on how to deal with the past. It has very likely contributed, in large part, to why we have such a hard time getting along. The Bible is very clear that the only way to pursue peace in any way and move ahead, is to let go of the past. We can learn from it and we can remember it but, allowing ourselves to be defined by it locks us in a prison of unchangeable circumstances. I’m certainly not saying that I don’t struggle with elements of my past but, I have committed a great deal of time to acknowledging that it’s just that…the past. It can’t be changed or undone…it can only exist as a reminder that it was real.

When I emailed my mother for her birthday, I was reminded of trying to write to my uncle; the aimless attempt to let the written word make up for time gone by. While there used to be a time when writing to my mother would be a weekly occurrence of catching up, it’s now the only option that is left in a mother/daughter world that has somehow crumbled beneath us. In the same way that we can’t let a challenging past stand in the way of a hopeful future, a warm and memorable past with someone can’t be the only pillars holding up an otherwise tumultuous relationship. No amount of birthday makes us exempt from having to constantly put forth the effort to make various relationships work.

While it’s easy to fall back on the excuse that “we can’t teach an old dog new tricks”…some would say that you can teach any dog new tricks…with the right doggy treats! Perhaps even birthday treats!!