Mom, your birthday still belongs to me too — it's the day I learned the world had you in it.
Fresh today · Tuesday, 23 June
New Wishes
A handful of wishes pulled from the cabinet this morning. Pick one up — copy, save it to your pinboard, or send it on.
I keep talking to you in the car. I think you keep answering, just quieter than I'd like.
Heaven got lucky on this date a long time ago, and so did I.
Happy birthday — I'm older now than you sometimes seemed, and still learning what you already knew.
I made your soup recipe and finally got it right. Of course it took your absence to read the notes properly.
Mom, the candles are unlit but the love isn't. Happy birthday, wherever the light reaches you.
↑ pick one up
Browse by occasion
What are we writing today?
Cabinets sorted by occasion. Open one — pages are arranged by warmth, not algorithm.
- Anniversary
- Baby
- Belated
- Best
- Birthday
- Boy
- Boyfriend
- Christian
- Christmas
- Congratulation
- Diwali
- Easter
- Eid Mubarak
- Engagement
- Farewell
- Fathers Day
- Friendship
- Funny
- Get Well
- Girl
- Girlfriend
- Good Morning
- Good Night
- Graduation
- Hanukkah
- Heart Touching
- Holiday
- Invitation
- Job
- Love
- Miss You
- Mothers Day
- New Year
- Recovery
- Retirement
- Romantic
- Thank You
- Thanksgiving
- Wedding
- Well
- Women's Day
- Sympathy
- Valentine's Day
- Halloween
- Veterans Day
More from today
Some birthdays you celebrate with cake; some you celebrate with memory. Today I'm doing both.
I told your grandkids the story about the bus, the rain, and the umbrella. They laughed in your tempo.
You'd be proud of how I'm handling the things you said I'd one day handle. Mostly.
Happy birthday to my first home — the one I still carry around inside my ribs.
I planted the daffodils you loved. They came up crooked, which feels honest somehow.
Mom, I hope today there's tea, a quiet window, and someone who knows you take it strong.
Your birthday turned me into a person who notices weather more — clouds behave better when I think of you.
I framed the photo from the porch. You're squinting at the sun and winning.
Happy birthday — I borrowed your laugh today and it still fits.
Sometimes grief is just a birthday card I write but cannot send. So I'm sending it to the air.
Mom, I hope heaven has a garden that needs you, and gloves that finally fit your hands.
I dreamed you were rearranging the kitchen. I woke up grateful for the noise of you.
Happy birthday to the woman whose advice I now recognize as I'm giving it to someone else.
You'd hate the fuss, so I'm keeping it small — coffee, your song, the window open.
Mom, the years don't shrink the love; they just teach it new addresses.
I lit a candle near your picture and the flame leaned, like it knew which way to go.
Happy birthday — I'm still your kid, just taller and a little better at the dishes.
Today I'll do something you'd have approved of, and one thing you'd have rolled your eyes at. Balance.
Mom, your birthday is a soft kind of holiday — half ache, half thanks.