Missing Mom

I have been without a mother for six months now. Yesterday, August 7, would have been her 100th birthday, and in lieu of the birthday card I sent her for decades, I wrote this poem.

August 7, 2016

You left six months ago.
I think about you when I
look in the mirror,
put on your pink earrings,
use your measuring spoons, or
wear the jacket you asked me to keep.      

I planted a tree in your memory
(more twig than tree)
and named it Elsie.
Frozen, baked, and hailed on,
it has six new leaves.
I named it well.

Sometimes I sense your presence
in the enigmatic eyes of my cat,
or while walking along the canal
where you used to walk,
or when the topmost branch of a juniper
waves though there isn't a hint of breeze.

Today is your one hundredth birthday, Mom.
Are there birthday parties in Heaven?