From beyond

Today was mom’s actual birthday. 59. With the health of a 103-year-old. 

She asked to join me to feed the ducks. Which I haven’t done in a few days. We have so many now. I buy seed in bulk but they’re starving. It’s never enough. She gets depressed about that, and I don’t want to deal. 

She must feel the same way when I mention certain names as I do when she talks about neighbors or ducks. 

She also wanted to come to the mailbox in our clubhouse. Naturally her friends are as useful as mine, as the usual suspects were absent as usual with their birthday cards. This after I fussed over her BFF just last week. 

Except …

There was a card from Uncle Tom. Sent Friday, pre-holiday weekend, so he could get it to her on her day. 

We sat at the pool and cried. He died Sunday as far as we know. Maybe sooner. 

And it was so hard for him to get to a mailbox at 86 with his health.  

But he did it. For her. 

If there’s a heaven, he’s in it. I thanked him for showing love to her when no one else did/has. 

She would murder me for taking this pic. She held onto his letter for an hour, unopened. It struck me when she said, there’s no one to send a thank-you to anymore. 

She thanked him for every note. She loved seeing his handwriting. And he came to worry if there was a delay in getting a note from her. Which was rare. Her etiquette is pretty impeccable. 

They were pen pals for 10 years. 

I don’t know if she’s opened that letter yet. I won’t ask. I’m just so happy she received it. 

Thank you, Uncle Tom. Love you bunches. Thank you for loving my momma so much. 

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