Happy Birthday to Me

Today I am 58 years old. I’d like to think I still look good for my age, but I know the years are beginning to etch themselves into my face line by fine line. I’m really okay with that. I’m alive, happy, and healthy. I have a terrific husband, two incredible children, a daughter-in-love and a son-in-love, and five absolutely brilliant grandchildren who obviously take after their Nana.

About birthdays: On one hand we have the joyful celebration of a life lived for one more year, an act of death defiance at any age, but as we grow older we are more aware of that truth. On the other hand we have the memories of birthdays past, often a bittersweet blend of wonder and loss.

Several of my birthdays stand out in my mind. Here’s one. The day before my 12th birthday, Mom picked me up at school. She was waiting for me as I came down the steps at R.C. Andrews elementary. She was smiling, but it was a sad smile and she told me that Pappy, my great grandfather, had passed away that morning. Of course being the dramatically selfish little sixth grader I was, my thoughts immediately went to my carefully planned birthday slumber party that would need to be cancelled. I cried, but for all the wrong reasons.

The weekend was spent at my Nannie and Grandaddy’s house with grownups speaking in hushed tones while a seemingly infinite number of casseroles arrived to feed us. My birthday was forgotten. On Monday afternoon I returned home from school to find Mom there already. She immediately sent me to Nannie’s home to pick up something that Mom had left there. I grouched to myself all the way to Nannie’s on my bicycle and all the way back.

“What am I, a servant?”

“Who does she think she is, anyway?”

“No one cares about me anymore. No one even wished me happy birthday.”

“If I died they’d all feel sorry.”

I probably said “damn” and then felt guilty about it.

When I walked in my back door with the spoon, or potholder, or apron that I’d been sent to fetch it struck me that the house was curiously quiet. Then I heard, “Surprise!” as I entered the kitchen.

Mom had gathered my closest friends for a party. She’d taken off from work that afternoon, baked a cake, and decorated the kitchen in my honor. It’s still one of my fondest memories. In the midst of her own sorrow, Mom knew how much I needed attention. I miss her every day, but especially today.

Peace, People!

Author: nananoyz

I'm a semi-retired crazy person with one husband and two cats. View all posts by nananoyz