Today is mom's birthday. She would have been 58.

She is 58?

I've struggled with what verb tense to use here.

It is her birthday. It was her birthday.

I think it's fair to say: it's no longer "Sue's" birthday.

"Sue" the person is gone.

But what of my mom?

What of the energy that entered the body of a person named Sue—that met a man named Kevin, that created Kelsey and Johnny.

What of that?

I think we can say: today is a celebration of the first time that energy took a breath with the lungs belonging to a baby named Sue.

There's no past tense with that energy; no past tense with my mom.

That energy is no longer named Sue.

But it's out there. The stuff that used to occupy and animate a body named Sue is doing something out there in the universe.

I'm reluctant to label energy "good" or "bad—" energy transcends labels and simply exists as it is, right?—but fuck it: the energy in Sue was a good energy.

It reverberated from Sue in profoundly loving ways.

So I hope that energy—wherever it is, whatever state it's in—continues to do the same.

Happy birthday, mom.