Happy 87th Birthday, Mom

Today would have been my mother’s 87th birthday. She died just before her 80th birthday. Every year, this date arrives with a blend of tenderness and ache, a reminder of both the years she lived and the years she no longer gets to. Birthdays after loss can feel strangely suspended in time—still meaningful, still hers, even though she’s no longer here to celebrate them. They become quiet anniversaries of love, influence, and memory.

What I’ve come to realize is remembering the birthdays of those who have passed is not about clinging to grief; it’s about honoring their presence in our lives. These dates anchor us, providing a moment to pause and say, “You mattered. You still matter.” Celebrating their birthday doesn’t mean throwing a party or recreating traditions exactly as they were. Sometimes it’s as simple as lighting a candle, telling a story, or just allowing yourself a few minutes to feel connected to them again. These small acts of remembrance keep their impact alive in ways that feel grounding and comforting.

But even more important than remembering someone on their birthday is remembering them throughout the year. Thinking of them when a song plays, or when we cook a favorite recipe, or when we reach for their wisdom in a tough moment—these are the threads that continue weaving them into our lives. We honor them by carrying forward the parts of them that shaped who we are.

So today, as I acknowledge what would have been my mother’s 87th birthday, I’m not only celebrating the date she was born—I’m celebrating the life she lived and the life she continues to influence. And I’m reminding myself that love doesn’t end; it simply changes form, showing up in memories, habits, choices, and stories we keep telling. Remembering her today is special. But remembering her all year long is how she stays close.