Kudos to the Sally O'Malleys of the world.

Not that she reads this blog, or that she knows about this blog, or that she NEEDS to know about this blog... but today is my mom's 65th birthday. Happy birthday, Mom.

I talked with her today. As usual the conversation went all over the place*, but she did spend some time telling me about her navy blue shoe shopping success and how she wants to get a similar pair of black ones to wear when she's dead. Apparently, they're quite comfy.

(Mom has always been rather aware of, and rather blatant about, her mortality. Ever since I can remember she's reminded us that she wants to be cremated and her ashes sprinkled over her parents' grave sites, despite the fact that my father wants her to be buried next to him and it's illegal to sprinkle ashes... Hey - maybe that could be my felony!)

I called upon those hours upon hours of watching Six Feet Under and reminded her that you can't see shoes in a coffin. She stated (again) that she wants to be cremated. I said, "then what the hell do you need 'dying' shoes for?" And she laughed. And I laughed.

This type of conversation with one's own parental unit probably sounds awful. Morbid. Disrespectful. But really, it's just honest. Recently I have been blatantly aware of how little time I have left with my parents. I want to know about all their medical situations. I want to advise them on how to make the best of their situation with their crappy doctor. I want to honor their requests around ceremonies and services and burials, and have therefore had to ask a lot of weird questions, and use a lot of weird humor while doing so. And them sending a copy of their wills was just eerie.

I have seen my friends go through parental losses and have tried to be a better daughter as a result. I have realized how much I care about them and how much they have sacrificed for me. I have also been painfully aware of the fact that I'm 3000 miles away and don't talk to them nearly enough.

But not enough to move BACK THERE. They are more than welcome to move out here, but I am not going BACK THERE.

Dammit.

I'm not.

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* She's not on the verge of Alzheimers or anything... she's just old. And retired. And has a lot to say about it. And a lot of free time with which to do so.