The Only Way Past is Through Part II: Happy Birthday to Me

 (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 1/3^rd 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 1^st 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…

Back on the Horse

The only constant in our lives is change.

And honestly, that’s the way it should be.  If we stay stagnant for too long, we’re not growing, or stretching, or reaching our ultimate potential.

But change can be messy.  It can come when we’re not ready for it.  And it can hurt like a bitch. 

I’ve spent the last month postponing pain.  It’s a trick I learned very early in life as a performer and a dancer.  You can push so hard and build so much momentum that you don’t feel the pain.  You can feed off the stress, the euphoria and the inertia to just keep going and doing.  But when you stop, and you always do eventually stop – that’s when you have to face the pain.

Sometimes it’s strictly physical – like dancing for hours on blistered, bleeding toes, or doing an entire show through a screaming migraine.  And you don’t feel a thing until the applause has subsided and you’re on your way home for the night.  Then – WHAM! (Not the 80’s pop band.)  You collide with the pain that you’ve been suppressing for hours.  You ice, bandage, medicate, and ultimately curl up into a whimpering ball in bed for a few hours believing that when you wake up the next morning, it will have lessened to the point that you can function again.

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But when the pain is on the inside, it’s a different ballgame.  You can push it off for longer.  What – it’s starting to hurt?  Turn on your go-to music playlist.  A tickle of depression? Recite a mantra while putting on mascara and go out for a night with friends!  Keep over-booking.  Keep making jokes.  Keep focusing on the next thing and the next and the next…

That is, until your last shred of sanity is bare.  Until you’re sitting in your living room at 3:33pm without having accomplished anything on your To Do List, starving, but unable to commit to getting dressed and foraging for food.  Until you know the only way to get past is finally go through…

This post is not me getting through.

This post is me acknowledging that it’s time to get through.  This post is me getting back on the horse.  Back on the bicycle.  Back… to the Future!!! – by preparing to deal with the past.  

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I’m not the protagonist of Eat, Pray, Love.  I don’t have a bunch of money saved up to take a year off from life traveling the globe, devouring food, slurping red wine and banging three generations of B+ List actors. (Would that I did – winning Powerball ticket PLEASE!!!)

But I realize that if I want to get back on that crazy train to success that I was momentarily aboard in the not-so-distant past, I’m going to have to let myself feel the pain, pick up the pieces and move on.

I welcome your thoughts, experiences, coping strategies, words of encouragement, agreements, disagreements, and mostly, your company, as I take this journey over the next few weeks.  And of course, I understand if this is too icky, too close to home or just not your ‘thing’ right now.

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Grief is F*cking UGLY.  Believe me – I am one UGLY crier!!! (A fact that way too many of my friends can attest to!)  But I know I can’t and more importantly, don’t want to do this alone.

So thank you – in advance.

Hillary J.