I don't hate everybodys' - just my own. First of all, I have the whole Peter Pan complex going on - I do not want to grow up. I know why - I was right there when the psychiatrist said it - and he was right - I was never a little kid - never not once.
And then there is this - the phone call from Grandma.
"Happy birthday."
"Thanks Grandma."
"Do you remember what happened on this day when you were 8?"
"Yes."
"I bet you don't"
"I do."
"What - what was it?"
"Grandpa died in little brother's bed."
"Oh I guess you do remember."
"Kinda hard to forget."
"Happy Birthday."
"Thanks."
A pleasant memory. Grandma and Grandpa move in to help raise us. In less than a year, Daddy is shaking my shoulder in the middle of the night. But he is too late - I already saw the EMT's go by with the gurney - they were too loud. He does not even have to say it.
"Which one is it?" I ask
"Honey - you need to go sit with Grandma - Grandpa just died."
"In little brother's bed?"
"Yes."
"Why don't you go sit with her?"
He shakes his head, "I . . .I, just can't. Go do it. She needs you."
I am just 8 - just barely - just today. I roll my eyes at him and grab my blue blanket. "Where is she?"
He is sobbing, sitting on my bed. "The living room."
I leave him sitting alone in the dark and walk out to the couch. Grandma is there, the EMT's, Dr. Knudsen and somebody else I can't remember. I plunk down next to Grandma and stare straight ahead, blank face watching the drama. She puts her arms around me and Dr. K pats my knee. This is getting old - I am tired of being a human teddy bear for adults who cannot keep it together.
An hour later the sun is up and so is little brother. He is sobbing, and people are holding him and telling him it is OK. I ask if I can go back to bed. Even I cannot believe how callous I sound, but I am truly sick of all of this weakness.
Dr. K walks me to my room and says I should pack some things. He says we can have a birthday party at his house with Brent and Marcie and Kevin and Joice. he smiles at me - a crooked smile with raised up eyebrows, like even he knows how stupid that sounds. I shake my head at him and pull mama's old Avon suitcase out of my closet. I pack my stuff inside, and little brother's too.
Happy birthday to me.
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3 comments:
Okay, i understand why you don't like birthdays. Sounds like yours have stunk beyond belief. maybe you should pick a new day for your birthday?
happy birthday, my friend.
I think that is one of the worse birthdays I have ever heard of, especially given all you went though with the loss of your mother. How very sad. Your childhood, really did not exist, you had to grow up to fast.
I do hope you celebrate your birthday with YOUR family, that loves you so much, and make new traditions and new fun, playful things to do. Who cares if they seem like a Peter Pan Complex, rent a huge blow up Castle and bounce around in it with the kids, eat lots of cake and blow out candles, have balloons and streamers and fun, silly gifts that you missed out on when you were too busy growing up too fast. Nothing wrong with that at all, and your kids will have a ball.
Happy, happy, birthday!
XOXOXO
I hate my birthday, too. It's nice to know i'm not the only one out there. For me, today is the day i make sure i look happy so my parents and so-called-friends can be glad they did something good. I'm only a teenager, but your story helps me feel better. Not because it is worse than mine( which i can't be sure of), but because i fell i can "grow up" knowing it's okay. Knowing there is hope, regardless of the fact you don't mention anything of the sort in your account. Thank you. Hope next year is better. Hope it's a...Happy Birthday.
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