I was born on August 13th at 8:30 am. Because my mom is so small, she had all three of her children by Cesarean, meaning that she got to choose my birthday in a small way. She knew it needed to be sometime this week, so she chose the 13th because it was her mother’s birthday.
My grandmother, Nola Brabham, died when I was a freshman in college, but I always think about her on this day. I liked that we shared it, I loved when we could be together to celebrate and blow out candles together.
There’s a picture of her on one of our bookshelves, a black and white high school portrait. She’s looking back over her right shoulder, her hair done in finger waves. That same picture was displayed at her funeral, and when I walked in for the visitation, people gasped at how much we looked alike.
Well, so far for my big day, I’ve been woken by a 5:45am hang-up call, took a shower, and am off for the first official teacher’s day back at school. It’s 7:30. Matthew’s in bed, enjoying sleeping in on a drizzly morning—worn out from our phenomenally busy weekend and the GRE yesterday.
Woke up got out of bed, dragged a comb across my head
found my way downstairs and drank a cup
and looking up, I noticed I was late