Happy birthday, mom. Or … well, happy belated birthday, since I lagged until way after midnight to post this.

You would’ve turned 75 today. It’s weird … and sad … (well, mostly sad) … that I have at least another two decades to say, “you would’ve been X years old today,” every year on your birthday, before X becomes a ridiculously impossible number.

As the years go by, if I want to continue this already-inconsistent tradition of wishing you a happy birthday on my blog, I’m eventually going to run out of photos of you to post. All the photos that have ever been taken of you have … already been taken. They are all already in existence, and some no longer in existence. No new ones will ever be taken again.

So, I have no idea what I’ll do 50 years from now, when I wish you happy birthday and say that you would’ve been 125 years old today. Because by then, I’m pretty sure I’ll have posted every photo that exists of you.

But that’s okay, I guess. It gives me something to do on your birthday that still feels somewhat meaningful, especially for this atheist who doesn’t actually believe you’re still around in any form to see this message.