Today marks your 100th birthday. Wow! I wish you were here to hear me say out loud, “Happy Birthday, Mother!”
I wish I could bake you a birthday cake and decorate it with 100 candles on top. You were always impressed that, unlike in Japan, where people always buy cakes from a bakery, Americans bake cakes in an oven at home.
You were taken from us way too early. You were only 67 years old. You were much younger than how old we (your two kids) are today.
When I was trying to decide which day of the month to post my blogs, I picked the 17th. I don’t remember consciously picking your birthday. In retrospect, however, the decision must have been made, subconsciously, to coincide with your birthday.
The more I think about you and me, the more I realize that we spent only 22 years together. And even during those 22 years, it seems that I spent more time in school, with extra-curricular programs, etc., than at home. Of course, back then, as a kid, I was not thinking at all that you were going to die someday.
I remember vividly when you used to say, “Why don’t you skip classes and stay home with me today?” Few parents would ever say such a thing to their children, I presume, but my mother sure did. And my response, of course, was always something along the lines of, “Mother, there is no way I’m going to do that!” And you’d send me off to school, trying very hard to hide the sadness you were feeling.
In retrospect, I wish I had stayed home, at least once, just to make you happy. But I didn’t. Talk about a regret that cannot be undone…
I miss you every day, Mother, and not just on your birthday. When I die, I hope it means I can be reunited with you.
I love you to infinity, always and forever!
