another birthday passes

canon digital rebel xsi

Today my Mom would have celebrated her 60th birthday. She died just shy of her 50th birthday. It feels odd that there have been these ten years of birthdays she has missed. You see, the dead don’t age. My Mom will always be 49 years old.

One of the things I often got my Mom on her birthday was a Van Gogh calendar. It has only been during the last couple of years that I stopped searching them out in bookstores and stationary stores. I never bought them, but would often find myself looking them over, trying not to cry.

Another birthday tradition of long ago was going to the L.A. County Fair. The last weekend was usually near my Mom’s birthday, and we would hop into the car and trek to Pomona, usually returning with an oversized stuffed animal my sister would somehow always manage to win.

There was one year when we returned to discover our dog, a black cockapoo named Scooter, was very displeased that she had been left out of the festivities. It would seem she decided to have a little pity party on her own.

As we walked inside the house, we were greeted by a trail of garbage that she had managed to drag from the kitchen across the entire living room. Once we passed the garbage, we found my Mom’s present, a cactus plant, dug out of its pot, dirt all over the floor. By this point my Mom was ready to strangle the dog. Then she saw her cake.

We had left it on the kitchen table. Scooter had managed to get up on the table, and licked most of the chocolate frosting off the top. My Mom wondered how the dog had managed to get up on the table.

This is when one of us confessed that sometimes when my Mom didn’t come home for dinner, we would let Scooter eat at the table. Now my Mom wanted to strangle us. We were sent to our room, with the dog, before she did. Well, as soon as we cleaned the mess up, of course.

It is hard to imagine what celebrating my mom’s 60th would have been like. There are so many if’s in the equation. Would she still be living in San Francisco? Would we have gotten together? Would we have gone to the Fair? Or maybe Disneyland? Would she have been sober?

Birthdays were a big deal to my Mom. She always tried to remember everyone’s. She sent cards, or at least called. She often left messages of her singing, “Happy Birthday” on people’s answering machines (my own included).


on the night stand :: Her Fearful Symmetry by Audrey Niffenegger

the dead don't age

Today my sister should have turned 39 years old. I am not sure we would have celebrated together. That hope died with her.

This week is a hard one. Our father's birthday is exactly a week before my sister's. It was made even harder this year as B's 23-year old cousin died on Tuesday. He was found unconscious in his apartment and was stabilized at the hospital, but still unconscious. Then he had a seizure and left this world.

He was studying to be a race car mechanic. I never met him, but it still makes my soul ache for the grief that I know his family, especially his siblings are feeling. The loss of a sibling is something so rarely discussed. If the parents are still living, their grief is certainly deemed greater. If the sibling had a spouse or children, again, these loses seem bigger. It is easy for a sibling to get overlooked despite that the connection of brothers and sisters is true and real.

But rather than focus on all the grief and sadness, I will share this (kind of) funny story:

When we still lived downstairs from our grandparents, our grandmother decided that my sister and I would get our birthday presents together, despite that my birthday was back in March. She took me aside and told me that my sister (a year younger) just wasn't good at seeing me get presents. Thus my grandmother thought it best to just present us with our birthday presents at the same time. (I did get flowers delivered to me on my birthday which was quite a treat.)

The gift issue wasn't a new concept. Alice just didn't like to share. At Christmas, our grandmother gave us two of exactly the same thing. Even if my grandmother got us a board game, she got us two of the exact game. Yes, even if it required two people to play. It was kind of silly and seemed a bit counterproductive - as her sister, I realized Alice needed to learn how to share more gracefully. Still, our grandmother did what she did to help keep the peace.

To make up for my having to wait, I did have some say in things. For our 6th & 7th birthdays, we got new bikes - our first two wheelers. Around my birthday we went to the bike shop to pick them out. Of course, they had to be identical because my grandmother feared that Alice would get jealous somehow if they weren't. We ended up with yellow bikes with banana seats that were covered in a flower print. I know those seats had to be my idea. They had matching baskets, horns and orange flags on the back (for safety). They also had training wheels.

They were great bicycles. Very well made. They eventually were shipped to the West Coast when we moved. I rode mine to school two miles each way in sixth, seventh, and most of eighth grade (until I got a red ten-speed and shortly thereafter was hit by a car when riding it)^*. Some kids made fun of us because of the crazy seats, but they were one of the few things we had that connected us to our grandmother 3000 miles away. She refused to fly, so we only saw her in the summers when visitation clauses in our parents' divorce documents forced us to that city again.

Of course now I realize that part of the reason we had to wait until June was money related. I didn't quite understand the concept of lay away at seven. Still, it is true that my grandmother went out of her way to attempt to keep Alice's jealousy gremlins at bay. I don't know that she was ever good at sharing, but these are things sisters just accept about each other.

I miss my sister in ways I can't explain. In my mind she will always be a skinny blonde haired girl who liked mayonnaise sandwiches and dancing in the rain.

^* I was fine, although I had hit my face with the street pretty hard. I looked like Frankenstein for several weeks, but it didn't keep me out of school or from competing at a cheerleading competition. I called my best friend upon returning from the ER and just announced that I had been hit by a car (without thinking). She freaked out until I told her I would see her at school the next day.


on the night stand :: Half-Assed: A Weight Loss Memoir

of birthdays, celebrated past

Today I wondered into a store which I had passed several times and so wanted to visit, but never did. I decided to go today to see what they had, and to perhaps search out a little something for a friend.

The store was filled with lots of little wonderful things. Things that glittered. Fuzzy things. Things that chimed. There was lots of paper and cards and things for babies and brides. Clever things and silly things. Things you probably wouldn't buy for yourself.

Among the shelves was a little bird paperweight. On the base it read, "A Mother's Love is Best". Part of me wanted to smash that little bird. It isn't that I don't believe that saying, although I don't think it is always true. It was more about missing something. And having this little statuette remind me of it among potential birthday gifts wasn't helping.

I think that even as we grow into adults, there are still things that we come to expect or at least want. One of them is that your parents will remember your birthday. It makes sense. They helped get you here, shouldn't they be the biggest celebrators of the day? They have been doing it as long as you, no?

Of course, I know that there are many people out there like myself who this isn't the case for, and may not have been true for a long time for all kinds of reasons. There are estranged parents and parents who are no longer alive mingled in with those who just don't get it.

I think this is why I am such a champion of birthdays. I try very hard to remember people, even if it is just sending a card in the mail. I do my best so that whatever I send arrives on time, although it isn't always possible. I genuinely feel bad when things are late, even though I also know that it can help extend the celebration. I just know what it feels like to be forgotten and I wouldn't wish that on anyone.

For those who have never been miffed by a parent on a birthday, you might want to (re-)visit the movie "Sixteen Candles". Although that will only get you so far. Having a parent forget your birthday for another sibling's impending nuptials is one thing; having a parent repeatedly ignore or do something hurtful on your birthday is a hard experience to describe. If you aren't careful though, it can make you feel like there has to be something wrong with you. It is much like the owner of a dog, kicking it in the gut for no real reason other than it was there.

Sometimes I think maybe forgetting is better than some of thing parents can do. Showing up drunk to a party (always fun). Presenting their child (now 'of age') with a bill for his portion of the living expenses is also not recommended. Writing a hurtful note in a card, starting an argument, and so on all seem somehow worse than just being overlooked or seemingly forgotten.

My Flickr stream is filled with birthday parties for my friends' little ones. It makes me wonder how things go to these happy joyous occasions to that other place. Many of us who are now ignored also had cakes and parties and candles and ice cream and presents way back when. Is there some age at which we are no longer cute enough? Good enough? Innocent enough? I know it isn't that simple, but when you watch a parent stare into his baby's face - you know the look - it makes you wonder how things can change so drastically.


on the night stand :: The Perfect Scoop

coming back

For someone who has few commitments at the moment, I am amazed at how little it feels like I get done. It is disappointing and a bit scary, if you must know.

B's parents (and sister) have been gone now for over 10 days. I feel like I have recovered as much as I can from their visit, which was quite awful. Still, some of the things that were said and done aren't things that you can just shake off and move on. But I try.

It probably isn't helping that this week is usually hard for me. It begins with my father's birthday and ends with my sister's. Their birthdays are exactly a week apart (and many years, of course). Part of me just wishes I could forget, but another part of me is glad that I don't. It is still tough though not to remember and ask if maybe it is me. Maybe I am the reason why my family is so messed up. But I know that isn't true. But after the parental visit in which I was accused of not wanting other people to have relationships with their families because I have no relationship with my own, it had to be asked.

We are also coming up on nine months of having left Chicago. I can't believe it has been that long although some of this time has dragged on. I also can't believe that I have lived without most of my things for this long. How I long for the day to sleep once again in my own bed and under my own roof. It seems like such a small thing - so easy to take for granted. But part of me is ready for this journey to end; of course the other part of me is scared to death as to what that means. In fact when I recently thought that it was about to change I had a most bizarre panic attack. It felt like my system literally reset.

So the question is how to I prepare for this change? How do I keep from feeling like I am drowning? How do I come back?

EGGS by Jerry Spinelli