Mom’s birthday was yesterday, July 24.

“Happy birthday, Mom, did you get my flowers?”

I promised myself, don’t ask Mom questions on the phone.  I start over. 

“I’ve been thinking about you all day, wish I were there to help you celebrate your birthday.”

Silence.

“It’s a beautiful day in San Diego.  The sky is clear blue.  I read most of the day, a biography of Lyndon Johnson.”

“David?”

“Hi, Mom.  Yes, it’s me, David.  Remember?”  I stop myself from asking her a question. 

“I love you, Mom.” 

Breath sounds. 

“I hope you know that.”

Was that a question?

“I better go Mom.”

Silence. 

“I love you.”

Silence.

“Bye Mom.”

Silence. 

I wait.  She doesn’t hang up.  A minute passes, I can hear her breathing.  I see her face in my mind’s eye, see her green eyes - they have always appeared to be lit from behind.

“Happy birthday, I hate birthdays, don’t you?”  Another question.

Silence.

“Mom?” 

Silence.

I hang up first. 

copyright, 2010 

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