Life Had

Tomorrow is my daughter’s birthday, and I must confess.

Diane is my favorite daughter, and yes, I also admit she was the only other female in our family.

Life has not gone down the path I expected as a young and often distracted Mother.

I grew up on a crowded midtown street in Manhattan and every relative I knew lived in proximity. Our small apartment was rarely quiet or empty.

Uncle Bill visited twice daily. Aunt Helen was a constant presence and both grandfathers lived in adjoining tenement flats. My four cousins made weekly visits after Mass on Sunday.

My sister and I shared a bedroom, a closet and were rarely far apart.

I naively expected that would be a similar role my life would follow.

However, fate had a different plan and my favorite daughter and I will not celebrate her birthday together nor will I bake her a cake.

Rather I will be blessed with one of her daily phone calls that arrive with precision. She is careful not to be critical of my aged eccentricities and never alerts me to any worries of her own.

And she is brutally honest, which is vital to me since I prefer to linger in a cloud of pretense about harsh reality.

We have not lived in the same state in more decades than I dare to count. We have not been able to share a lunch or bake cookies or dare to disagree about memories in ever so long.

But she was with me the morning I had a phone call telling me her Father and my Anam Cara had boarded the ferry. I believe he knew I needed help and asked God to send her.

And despite her own distinct path in life, she has rarely missed a day without saying, “It’s Diane, Mom.”

And she will ever and always be, “My Favorite Daughter.”

And forever, beloved.