(Q: What does the
following have to do with dealing with my father’s recent death?
A: I’m not sure. I
know only that this is a reflection on my own mortality and it seemed important
this week. And yeah – it’s a little morbid. Cheers!)
My Grandma Morse’s birthday is about six weeks before mine
every year. And for some reason, I
always take great pleasure in teasing her about getting another year older.
“Grandma, how does it feel to be so old?” (giggle, giggle…)
She never disappoints.
“Well, you know, it
beats the alternative.” I’m not sure how old I was when I figured out
what it was she was saying, but I thought it was kind of hysterical. “It
beats being DEAD!” (Ha-ha-ha!!!)
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Did I mention, I’ve always had a fairly dark sense of humor?
I still smirk, but I don’t really laugh anymore. Maybe it’s because I’m finally gaining some
perspective.
This year, I was lucky enough to have my birthday fall on an
actual Saturday! Yeah – I know.
“Hillary, at your age,
why would you be so excited about another birthday? Aren’t you over it by now? Doesn’t it feel
weird to be so old?”
Well, this year was kind of special. I realized it the closer I got.
A little over a month ago, I moved into a new apartment in
NYC. True to form of most NYC apartments
under $2,000/month, my living space is – hmmm – well defined. Okay – that’s
a euphemism for limited. But it’s cozy, kitty friendly, has good
access to street parking, includes a really cool roommate that I’ve known for
years, is in a nice neighborhood with good train access and has a bomb-a$$ backyard!
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So, without thinking too much, my roomie and I planned an
outdoor cookout-style birthday party.
The impending party date gave us some good goals for things like,
getting the lawn mowed, getting a new patio umbrella and fixing the gas grill.
But as the party got closer and our checklist grew shorter,
I started to remember the last time I tried to host a Saturday backyard cookout
birthday.
It was exactly ten years ago in last weekend. I was living in a house in Edgewater, Florida
on a 1/3rd acre lot, so I had a pretty sizable back yard. Of course, no one wants to be in a backyard
in Florida in June! But I’d acquired citronella tikki torches and equipped my
grill with a new propane tank, even though the bulk of the party was going to
happen in the air-conditioned house
FILLED with all the party fixin’s! Meat to grill, side dishes galore, (I’m
pretty sure it was a fajita bar) and so many beverages!!!
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I’d invited a ton of people with the focus being my improv
troupe and their friends. In fact,
earlier that morning, a few of us were guests on a locally produced kid’s radio
show to promote our pending 1st Birthday Show (now a standing RAI
tradition!)
I made it to the show and got through the morning, but after
our interview/on-air performance, we were ‘brunching’ at D.B. Pickles when I
really started to crash.
You see, I had just completed six months of super-aggressive
chemotherapy for a nasty little sarcoma in my left foot. After four of those months, I had surgery
that not only removed the tumor, but amputated a good chunk of what had once
been my best foot when it was forward. I
was about eight weeks post op at the time.
I was on a walking boot, so I was getting around okay – off
of pain meds, and driving again. But
that day, my immune system just – well – coded I guess.
I’ll spare the super disgusting details, but my condition
took a nasty downturn and I wound up laying on a couch for a while, feebly
mumbling directives to a small group of my friends who swooped in to save the
day by prepping the food and finishing the set-up. Eventually, when it became obvious that I
wasn’t going to be able to “rally” and join the party, I went and hid out in my
bedroom, so at least my friends could enjoy themselves without having to look
at me.
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I was pretty pathetic that day. I couldn’t get fluids down, but my eyes kept
watering and I couldn’t stop drooling.
Yup – I was worse than St. Bernard!
I think I wound up putting a towel on my pillow. The one upside was that at least my drool
couldn’t get my hair wet – cuz – ya know – chemo! No hair to worry about!
My friends checked in on me repeatedly. I kept telling them to go out and enjoy the
party. I didn’t want the food to go to
waste. I wanted everyone to have a good
time, even if I couldn’t – maybe especially because
I couldn’t.
I’ll never know the absolute truth about that night. I know I heard music. I know I heard periodic bursts of loud
laughter and talking. And I let that
soothe my soul for the moment, thinking that even if my body wasn’t capable of
joining in the fun, at least fun was just one room over, and I had helped
supply it.
And I vowed to myself that my next birthday would be better.
And I kept that promise. I don’t remember the specifics of
all the birthdays between that night and Saturday, but I definitely took time Saturday night to be grateful that I was able
to be the “grill-master” for my friends.
I was thrilled that I was able to spend most of the night on my feet,
tending to my guests. I was so happy to
introduce all of my friends to each other and share stories and tips with each
other. I was relieved that I was capable
of getting up and going to the door to let my friends in one by one and show
them to our little backyard oasis.
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And maybe this year, for the first time, I really understood
and appreciated what my grandmother has told me all these years about greeting
another year head on. Yes, I am ONE YEAR
OLDER!!! And that’s more than okay,
because you know what? It really does beat the alternative…
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