September To Remember: Birthday Bags

September is the month of my mom’s birth. I wanted to take the time to remember her as I knew her to be. Not a sainted woman but a sometimes strong, sometimes frail example of womanhood. 

Fondest early childhood memory meant munching on sweet and salty snacks she was bagging for my classroom kindergarten party. It’s a vague memory of me and her at our dining table assembling ziplock bags. I remember eating more than I was bagging. I remember being excited. It would be the only class party I would have in my years as a student. 

She would soon come to embrace certain religious teachings and no longer celebrate birthdays or holidays. I would come to hate this doctrine she took on as her own. She would eventually concede and I would be thankful. My child’s mind missed my fun mom. I was glad the weird church teachings didn’t change her all the way. 

My last birthday gift would be a beautiful vase of flowers. She insisted I pick it up before they wilted. How was I to know this would be her last earthly gift to me?

September to remember. 


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