A little back story first.

I'm not sure when it started sometime around my tenth or eleventh birthday. My mother asked me "Your birthday is on the 9th, right?" "No, Mom it's on the 8th." At first I thought she was joking, she had that kind of sense of humour. Year after year  of "Your birthday is on the 9th, right?" "No, Mom it's on the 8th." made me unsure.

So unsure that when I finally got a hold of my birth certificate I was relieved to see that it really was the 8th. 

After my 18th birthday the question only came up every few years. She'd still ask every once in awhile and I'd tell her no, it was George's birthday that was on the 9th. 

I never did find out for sure if she was joking or just had so many kids she couldn't quite remember. It was probably a bit of both. 

So Monday Pat calls me and says "Happy Birthday". We talk for a minute and I begin to suspect that he thinks it actually is my birthday. "You know my birthday was yesterday, right?' "Isn't your birthday on the 9th?"

I laughed and laughed and then explained about Mom to him. I got off the phone feeling a little better. Maybe even a lot better. I just miss Mom so much that I basically pushed through my birthday waiting for it to be over. When I least expected it was like she found a way to reach out and wish me a Happy Birthday one last time. 

What an amazing gift.