The Ghost of Birthdays Past

Yesterday we had a wonderful party, but there was a ghost.

It was the shared birthday of E2 and E3 -- the third birthday for the middle child who last year got a baby sister for her birthday and the smash cake extravaganza of a first birthday for the least of the grandbabies. Mom had gone all out and planned a splendid affair with the theme of Princesses and Pirates, because although she has three little girls, there are a lot of little boys in her circle of friends. The same cast of characters that I've come to expect at every birthday party for four years was there with some new additions, but we were missing one.

Ethan.

It was a glorious party. Beyond the cake, which featured the princess of the year Sofia (Sofia the First) as well as Jake (from Jake and the Pirates) there were games, tiaras and swords, eye patches and wands. Although I saw one father of three wearing his daughter's tiara, the boys pretty much avoided the girl glitz. Little girls, however, were apt to be wearing tiaras and carrying swords. From turning on the princess bounce house, where there was much joy to be had, to Little Miss with pink frosting in her hair, a pinata on the church playground, and baby after her bath in the kitchen sink, it was an action packed two hours. Odds are good that everyone slept well last night. I think I even relived bits of it in my dreams.

I was photographer for the event, looking for special images to capture the day for Mom and the girls. After 25 years as a journalist at small papers where I did double duty as photographer, that's the role I'm generally assigned. That, along with an unofficial co-host (a role grandmothers get when there are so many little ones) kept me pretty busy.

Sometime during church service, however, while I was anticipating a big time, it hit me that there would be a ghost at the party -- or not at the party, depending on how one looked at it. After the party, after the cleanup and the loading of tired and cranky girls, packages and leftovers, I completely fell apart.

I knew that I would have to fall apart on his birthday, but I didn't realize every birthday party was going to bring on the pain.

Ethan loved birthday parties. He loved children, and cake and, although whatever it was that made him feel separate always kept him standing in the background, he would have been there. E1 would have been so happy to see him. Although he wasn't around a lot, she doted on him and her sisters would have come to do so as well.

At all the birthday parties, he's been a shadow in the background. One I didn't always take the time to photograph while focusing on the little people, but who I can find bits and pieces of in most of my birthday pictures.

Yesterday, however, there was no warm, swallowing hug, no smart remarks about my pirate get up, no beautiful smile, no big, gentle hands catching little people, or getting a second helping of cake, or helping with cleanup.

The last time I saw him was at E1's birthday in August, nearly four months before he died. He'd been using again, but not that night and he enjoyed visiting with cousins, eating grilled hot dogs, cake and homemade ice cream in my front yard. I made not one single, decent photo of him, although I can still feel that last hug in the driveway when he left with my parents (he didn't have a license any more), still see him getting in the car, riding in the back seat while my dad stopped to make some smart remark before leaving.

I wish the party hadn't take so much of my time and that I'd had more time to just be with him, but there's a million of those things I would change if I could have a redo. None of them are an option, so I just have to learn to live with my regrets.

Learning more about addiction, I know that although he seemed to have fun, he didn't get the pleasure from those gatherings that we do. I've learned that his drug took over his mind so much that it was the only thing that could bring him real pleasure and that, perhaps, he stood back not just because he often didn't feel he fit in, but because in the back of his mind he may have been thinking about when he left and getting high again and how he knew that would hurt us but he couldn't stop himself.

I know he was filled with love for his nieces, his sister, and the rest of his family and friends, but not enough love for himself to realize that somehow, he was worth taking care of and saving. I know he would never have wanted to ruin a party for any of us, he would want to enjoy it with us.

Yet these parties and family gatherings, the times when I could have usually counted on seeing him, are going to be the toughest times for a while. I'd grown used to his absence in so many ways that it's almost easy to get through the days without focusing on the fact that he's not just a phone call away and he's not going to randomly call me. Almost. And when we are all together, there's enough activity that one often silent young man, may not be missed in the heat of the moment.

It's afterwards when everything becomes a memory that I store away that his memory is buried a little further back under the new memories. It's while I'm downloading pictures and almost looking to see where he was at. It's while I'm looking at the faces of children and remembering another child long ago. That's when it hits me like the train that didn't cause the crossing guard to drop, sending me spinning into dark places where I feel my heart shatter into a thousand pieces yet again.

I'm glad the girls share a birthday, so there will only be two of these parties to get through this year, not three. But I already know that the one in mid August will be hard. I will want to be very busy and very involved, not looking for another ghost in the shadows.

Because he won't be there at all, although he'll be everywhere for me.

Ethan's memory, his ghost if you will, caused me pain yesterday, but thinking about him this morning has brought me smiles as well as tears. That ghost that lingers around birthday parties is one I'll have to come to terms with and, eventually, be happy to see because it's a happy spirit and those are happy memories. What makes them painful is that they are just that, memories.

There will be no new memories, but Ethan lives forever in my heart.

It Isn't the Age, It's the Attitude

Today is my birthday.

I won't say which one. That's purely to prevent identity theft (well, that's a good excuse isn't it?) I will say that I can still see 50 in my rear view mirror, but like other things in that mirror it may appear closer than it actually is.

It's funny how fast time flies once you start that downhill run. I can remember when days dragged and it was absolutely forever between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Now it's barely a blink of the eye. Halloween and Thanksgiving are hardly blips on the radar between summer and the holidays. I expect that whole years will pass that quickly before long.

When we're young we seldom think about getting older. Well, we think about turning 5 and starting school, about becoming a teenager, turning 16 and getting our license, 21 and drinking (although in my day that was 18) and maybe dread the approach of 30 or the black balloons of 40. After that, I guess people used to look forward to 62 and retiring, but that's a fading option these days.

We don't really think about being older, or how that the older we get the older someone has to be to qualify as old or elderly. I bet people in their 70s don't even think of 80s as old.

Other than those milestone years when we may briefly look ahead and wonder what we'll be doing or what we'll look like (odds are one of our parents), we don't honestly give a thought to getting older and what our lives will encompass. It's like we pretty much assume that after 30 or 40 there's not a lot of excitement, or change, or potential to reinvent ourselves. It's just a gray, boring fog until retirement where our careers are set and we either rise or slip into a less demanding role; our lives take a back seat to watching our children grow and supporting their needs (if we've decided to have children); romance, adventure and learning, well, in our younger days we think those are pretty much done with.

WRONG!

I can look back over my own misconceptions of life quiet easily and recall who I was and what I thought about the future in those benchmark years.

I don't remember looking forward to starting school, although I can still almost smell and taste those early days at the elementary portion of Woodlawn School, which embraced all 12 grades. I remember the big tree out front where we waited for the buses, the girl who cried in first grade, the long, metal slide and the tall monkey bars, jungle gym and swings. I remember falling on the playground and breaking my left wrist. Life was about play and learning and weeks went on forever.

When I turned 13, I was grown. No seriously, I can still wear shoes I wore in the sixth grade. I had begun to fantasize about having a boyfriend with no clear idea what that meant other than "going together." Unfortunately, the only two boys taller than me were not interested in a quiet, bookish girl with frizzy hair and crooked teeth. I lived in books, loved my dog and John Denver, and didn't look ahead at all except to dream of working with animals.

Sixteen found me a junior in high school -- the last in my grade to get my license. I had finally been kissed, but never had a boyfriend. Life revolved around school and the social events it brought -- especially football and basketball. I dreamed of the boy who sat behind me in social studies, but we were just friends (although I found out 15 years later he thought the same things about me). My braces were history but I was stuck with my hair and the world had yet to discover styling products for it. I had discovered an independent streak that had me cutting my own hair, wearing what I wanted and other than two or three close friends pretty much disregarding the social strata of high school. I was going to go to college, have two children and be an art teacher or a veterinarian. Not necessarily in that order.

Twenty-one found me married, living in a mobile home on a small farm and working at Kentucky Fried Chicken. Seriously. I had a college degree with a double major in art/English (science was too tough for me and education courses unappealing) and wanted to write for the paper. I didn't want to move and there were no jobs, so I was waiting for an opening. My husband and future father of my children had a job at Hanes. The future looked to be plotted out although we hadn't decided on when the children would come along.

At 30, life had been turned upside down. The husband had quit his good job and I had finally said enough. I was a single mother with a 6-year-old and a 1-year-old. My family was upset and I didn't care. I was moving into a home I had just purchased on my own. I had my job in journalism and during the week I worked and was mom. I think I went out every weekend because I hadn't been out in so long. I wasn't looking ahead at all, except to continuing life as it was.

At 40, I was single again with a totally disastrous marriage behind me. There was no party -- black balloons or otherwise. I figured the odds of finding someone I would be happy with were declining. Despite working out regularly, I had gained weight I didn't think I'd ever lose. I had a career, a teenager and a middle schooler and life looked to be laid out until retirement.

Then in my 40s, I had a reset. Other than two children, nothing I had anticipated in my life had turned out quite like I pictured it. By the time I hit 50, an unimaginable age for most of my life, I was a totally different person than I had ever expected to be.

I was neither an art teacher, nor a veterinarian, nor even a journalist. I was happily married to a man I would never have imagined meeting. I had not only lost weight, I was wearing the smallest jeans I think I ever owned. Instead of coasting toward retirement, I was starting over and building a new business and career. And, although I had never given it much thought more than the nine months advance notice I had, I was a grandmother, twice.

About the only part I had gotten right was the two children, as I had not unexpectedly added a third.

I say all this not just to reflect on my own life on my birthday, which is something we're wont to do, but to make a point.

No matter where we are in life, most of us can look back and see things aren't what we anticipated. But that shift in perspective doesn't stop when we get married, or when we start a career, or when we have children. Once we're actually traveling it, the road ahead seems to never be quite what we anticipated.

Five years ago, I had a very different life that I expected would not significantly change. Now, I cannot even look ahead five years and have any idea what the future holds. While my business is good and growing steadily, so I expect it to continue, the three little people in my life will be at very different places. Two will be in school -- maybe public and maybe still here with me doing homeschool instead. I may finally have time to write the books in my head. We may go on vacation again, or do something else extraordinary. I don't know and I like that because I have faith it will be good and to have it all plotted out would be boring.

I do know that, contrary to what I unconsciously felt 20 or even 10 years ago, learning, dreams, romance and new adventures aren't all behind me yet and I have a strong suspicion may never be for me.

So happy birthday to me. And many more to come.

In Praise of Adult Entertainment

Made you look! But no, not that kind of entertainment.

When you spend your weekdays with preschoolers, your Saturday with hairy dogs and your Sunday at church, a little bit of adult recreation can be hard to come by. Generally, by the time I've finished my chores on Saturday, I'm happy to take a shower and curl up on the couch with a book or computer while my husband tunes into college football, which I may or may not watch.

Face it. Without a little coaxing, we married grown ups tend to slip into a "man, I'm tired mode" with our weekend free time. Usually, that's not a lie. We spend our weeks racing through our jobs and household responsibilities and down time in hard to come by. It's just too darn easy to not plan anything and let the TV host our activities.

But Saturday evening we went to a birthday party. Not a kids' birthday party -- been to a lot of those in the last few years -- but a surprise 40th birthday party for a friend. And we had a blast. I didn't even mind crawling into bed at 1 a.m. after cleaning up after a dog whose bladder had let loose sometime before we made it home. It was worth it.

I'll admit, we went not knowing what to expect, or who, beyond the guest of honor. When you're a kid and go to a party, chances are good you'll know the other kids. When you take kids to a party, you'll know the other kids' parents because you often move in a small circle. Once you get to be an adult, that circle expands and becomes people you work with, people you go to church with, and sometimes a friend or two with some history and common interests. Those circles often don't overlap.

So although the birthday girl and I are friends, our hubbies had been together twice. It isn't a close bond on their part. And we thoroughly expected to not know anyone else. Turned out that through my previous job and my current one, I did know some more people. And through motorcycles and riding, my husband had something in common with a lot of the male guests.

Soon it was two hours in and we were all laughing our heads off at the birthday girl opening her gifts. She was taken aback by the party and the friends her husband had rounded up and she was hamming it up for the gift opening. Add that to our comments on her presents and it was better than a comedy club. I was realizing I hadn't been to an adult party in I could not remember when.

Then she talked us into staying after the older generation left for some time in the basement and some music. Although the younger generation of teens was around, they were upstairs fighting over video games and cell phone chargers. There was no need for an adult to supervise.

An adult beverage in hand (nope, no juice boxes here), we adjourned to the basement for a few more hours of good times. We're not talking cranking up the CD player here. We're talking live music with guitars and drums and computerized lyrics if the vocalist forgot the words.

Our aging group of friends includes some rockers who used to play at local venues and they had a couple of younger musicians in training as well. The neighbors don't mind if they rock it out in their basement, and so they did. They have a wide repertoire and took requests. The volume was loud, the drums were crashing and the guitars were great. If the singer lost their voice or the lyrics, we didn't seem to care. I even took the mic for an old Patsy Cline number I knew from growing up in a country music household where my mom used to belt it out when I was small. It was fun and a bit terrifying at the same time (kind of like ziplining).

Although it was a little tough dragging out of bed and toting a cup of coffee out in the brisk fall air to tend the dogs this morning, it was well worth the effort. I felt relaxed and reset and reminded myself that we don't do this enough. I think throughout the summer we've managed maybe three or four adult outings. Seriously, we need to do this more often.

So I think I'll put that on my to-do list along with my Monday fitness outing.

Make time once a month for something with at least one other adult couple. And if the first couple I invite doesn't have time (or perhaps is having one of those spells like we've had), then I'll by gosh call someone else. Even if it's just dinner and sitting around together watching TV, I think we can put it in the relaxation and resting category for our weekend. If we manage a little more, well, that's OK, too.

In the midst of work and children and making ends meet, we need to remember we need some adult entertainment sometimes, too.