I just called my gram to wish her a happy birthday. 83. Long run, hm? I wish she could be around for 83 more. I call every year, and every year for the past few she’s alluded to this or that. Most phone calls (I call at least once a week) allude to “only so much longer” or the like.
Somehow I call her up for happy, and wind up realizing sooner than I like it will be one less Happy Birthday call to make in the year. There are already too few.
Happy Imbolc everyone who celebrates it. Sorry to precede yearly wishes with morose thoughts. It’s how my brain works. Five years ago today I was in labour. I was miserable. Labour stopped. That child stayed in eight more days. She’s still stubborn, like her mama. I’ll probably ramble on about that later though.
