that counts

 Today my mother would have been ninety-three. Another reminder. I had written about those reminders just yesterday. This morning I'm remembering Mom. When I was a kid at home, I don't remember Mom ever having a birthday. Oh, I'm certain we kids made her cards and stuff. It's just that birthdays, adult birthdays, weren't really celebrated at my house. I don't recall Dad celebrating his birthday. As I am prone to say, it's just another day. It must be a part of my raising because even to this day I'm uncomfortable celebrating my birthday. I have mixed feelings about those making a big deal out their birthdays, and in recent years calling it their birthday week! It just wasn't something I grew up with. Birthdays as a kid were generally Mom made a cake, we had ice cream, and you got a gift. The family would sing Happy Birthday, that was the most unusual part of the whole deal, we weren't a family that sang together. It was like saying grace at Thanksgiving, that was the only time that happened at my house.

 Now Mom did expect a card for her birthday and Christmas. That was the minimum requirement. If you failed to send one you would hear about it, not from her though, from one of your siblings. Mostly I would hear that from my sister who would tease me about that. "You're on the list." That was all that needed to be said for me to understand I was in trouble for something. I had committed some faux pas. My mother did adhere to a strict set of social rules. Yes, she had expectations. It wasn't a good thing to disappoint her. Gifts were not expected or desired, a card was. As Mom was always quick to point out, it's the thought that counts. The thought accompanied by a card or letter is what she really meant. 

 Well, you can't mail a card to heaven. You can send flowers to the gravesite with an attached note, but I haven't done that. Mom is buried in Florida, and I have yet to travel there, perhaps I will make it one day. Dad is buried in New York, at home between his parents, his birthday is in a few days. Dad never expected anything for his birthday although he did enjoy the attention when it was given to him, although he wouldn't admit to that. I don't recall sending him cards for his birthday, just a phone call to acknowledge the day and that didn't always happen. Like most guys I'm not very good at remembering these things. Birthdays, anniversaries, things like that are generally what the ladies remember. I remember every car I ever owned, the size of the engine, the color, the transmission and what I repaired on them. 

 So today Mom will have to be content with the thought. I am thinking about her and that's all that counts. That's what I'll be telling myself all day. A part of me says I should have purchased a card. I just don't know what I would do with it afterward. No one to mail it to, I don't have that address. Wouldn't be right to just throw it in the trash. No, it is the thought that counts. It's one of those things though. You know what the mature thing is, the sensible thing but it doesn't seem right. Seems like there should be more than a memory, more than a thought. Something I'll have to think about, I guess.