March 9th

It is now March 9th. I waited up for midnight to come around so I would be awake on this day.

I used to call my mom every day. When I would get in the car and drive to work, I would always call her. And she would always listen. She had a teriffic knack for listening too. She always made you feel like everything you said was important. She made you feel special. I still hear her voice, "I'm so proud of you honey." It didn't matter what the spectacular deed was. For all she cared, I called to tell her that I had an incredible bowel movement today. She always told me she was proud.

I miss those daily calls. When I drive to work now, there is a void. She was always home and always answered the phone. If the day was crappy, I could feel her wishing to take it away. "I'm so sorry, honey. It'll get better." And it always did.

I would call from the various places that I would visit. While I was walking down Broadway in New York this week, I just stopped on the sidewalk and looked around. Mentally I was on the phone telling my mom everything I saw. And she would be so excited for me.

I miss you so much mom. Happy Birthday. I love you.