Today is the anniversary of my mother’s birth. It’s not her birthday, really, because she’s no longer alive. It’s tough to know how to handle not the first birthday after the death of a loved one. I can tell you I wasn’t looking forward to it – and I didn’t want to address it if I didn’t have to. Consequently, I was caught off guard when others did address.
She would have been 82…at the rate she was going, by now she wouldn’t have been able to walk, shower on her own, go anywhere without oxygen blasting up her nose – but her make-up would have been perfect.
I think there is an inherent hope in each generation as long as the generation just before us is still alive. I know that hope, after the death of our elders, is still possible. In fact, often it’s a natural follow-on when there are youngsters around – or even younger siblings.
This is not something I thought about when I decided not to have children. I think my resistance to taking care of my mother was so great when I was still in my child-bearing years that it never occurred to me that children might be part of every parent’s long-term plan. HA! Perhaps not overtly, but on some level, the thought of having family forever is simply part of the unconscious equation.
I look at my dogs, Stormy, Tigger and Boobah with this thought in mind – and laugh. In their eyes I see ‘No, bitch, you’re on your own. Hell, we can’t take care of ourselves now – what makes you think more time is going to improve our situation?’
I did marry younger – so for a split second I thought, PHEW! Dodged the “growing old alone” bullet. Then he had his 4th brain surgery – and now has to deal with the significant side effects of the medications that keep him present and stable. So, we’re racing each other to the finish, I suppose.
I couldn’t testify to it, but I am fairly certain that my father, one day after a massive stroke in his brain stem, consumed his stash of “just in case” meds (with the assistance of they who shall not be named – and thank God for them) at home in order to make sure his exit was expedient and tidy. He was a physician – and had his share of chronic issues…I have no doubt he had prepared for the inevitable. A few weeks before he died, he was 84 at the time,
I said, “Getting older is a drag. I think 80 is just the right age to check out
.”He responded, “I did too, until I turned 80”
Oh we laughed and laughed – but I don’t remember ever speaking to him again after that.
The parents are one thing – but when one of your best friends makes an early exit – well, that’s a whole other fucking thing.
Dan had fought and won the cancer battle several times. They didn’t tell him to expect it’s return each time, but he learned to. The last time, just a month after my father left the planet, I missed Dan’s call – but he then sent this simple text, “Call me please” Very unlike him… he was normally far more playful, day-to-day, with me, so I knew the news wasn’t good. that was September 1, 2021. He was gone three months later – Dec 6 – but not before we had long talks about death, grief, love and injustice. Not before sharing sushi and coffee, laughs, politics, and hope.
blah blah blah – I’m not going over Mom’s demise again – it’s long and painful and too fucking sad. What I really stopped by to talk about was how to handle birthdays long after the loss of the celebrant.
I think everyone should get to celebrate their dead loved ones, birthdays or otherwise, as they wish – and others should leave them to it. I’m not throwing a social media party, I’m not wishing anybody a heavenly birthday, etc. etc. etc.
I guess I will just miss them.
