NOWISM
A Last and First Birthday of Its Sorts
Thinking of you and this beautiful gift of life
10 am — 2.19.24
Today I won’t hear you wish me happy birthday. For twenty-six consecutive years, you never failed to call and sing me happy birthday.
Yesterday was the first birthday I didn’t get to wish you, “Happy birthday Peg!”
You would have been ninety-four.
We were close not just by the one-day proximity of our birthdays, but by the multitude of ways our personalities meshed as our friendship grew over the years.
You were — nope— you are the mother, my dear husband needed and never had. Sure, you’re from two different ethnicities — but if any two people proved people are and can be color blind — it was both of you.
He and I spoke of you yesterday. He wished you a happy birthday. He doesn’t ever cry — but I looked in his eyes. He misses you.
For the last five years, you told me on every 18th of February, “Natalie, this is probably going to be my last birthday.”
I hated hearing it. I always found a way to dance about the subject or pretend it couldn’t — wouldn’t happen.
