ghost in the machine

Nearly a year since my mother’s death and I am haunted by an email birthday reminder:

Wrapped in my mother’s embrace, flittering wisps of memory surround me, images in the slideshow of our lives. Little girl me in a homemade party hat. A drawerful of sparkly hand-drawn cards she sent every year. The party at her memory care home, balloons and cake and cookies and her glorious surprise when she exclaimed:

And last year, her last birthday on earth: a vacant stare yet still, the ghost of a smile. And always, cake.