My mum was always a bit morbid about anniversaries. She knew the date that everybody in our family had died, and tended to be a bit thoughtful and sad on those days.
I never took any notice of all that stuff, and I felt she disapproved. Like I never remembered the date my dad died, and she couldn't understand why.
She ended up in a cancer hospice. I was told by the lady in the next bed that she was in a surprisingly good mood on her last night, and when asked why she said: "I'm going home tomorrow". Which kind of surprised her fellow patient, as they both knew full well they wouldn't be leaving there alive.
Anyway, she died during the night.
On my birthday.
To this day I'm convinced she did it on purpose - "He won't forget THIS one, the little bugger".