Crappy Birthday

October 28, 2010

I had a crappy birthday.  I felt sorry for myself all day.  It was a really stressful day for me.  I felt stranded there with Mother, with so much more still to do. 

As I was cleaning the kitchen, she toddled in with her walker.  “Honey, is there anything I can do to help?”

I handed her the dishcloth and asked her to wipe down the cabinet.  She couldn’t understand my words, so I had to hold my hand on top of hers to demonstrate.  She started swabbing out of an ages old habit.  As soon as she was finished, she saw our soup bowls and glasses from lunch in the sink.  She started washing the dishes.  How many times in her life has she washed dishes?  Heck, how many times did she have to haul the water from the creek, chop the wood, build the fire, to have hot water to wash the dishes?  No Palmolive dish soap then either.  Anyway… 

Next I handed her the broom.  She swept a good-sized pile of dirt off the floor.  I praised her greatly and took her in the living room to her chair.  She konked out for a while. 

Later on, she wanted to help some more.  I gave her some towels to fold, warm from the dryer.  “Like this?  Like this?” she asked with every fold.

“Yes, yes.”  Who cared how they were folded?  We piled them on her walker and she toted them down to the bathroom, where Chloe unloaded them onto the shelf.  I could tell Mother was proud of herself.

Chloe baked me a birthday cake.  Cord and I had decided that instead of cooking tonight, we would order Chinese food.  But Jerry had his last load to pick up at the Baptist Village after school.  Since Cord’s foot was broken and Slade works constantly, Jerry ended up getting help moving the rest of Mother’s belongings from our renter’s son. 

It was way after dark when they got home. Cord helped unload furniture into the garage.  Somehow two of the drawers in Mother’s dresser fell and busted.  That upset me so much—her only bedroom suite since the tornado in 1945. 

Jerry brought in flowers and candy, a sure sign he didn’t want to shop for me a birthday present (when would he have had time anyway?); still, I could tell the birthday dinner wasn't going to work out.

Mother was ready for bed.  Cord still had to go to his house to unload Grandma’s couch and coffee tables.  Slade was calling to find out when we were going to eat.  It was just going to be too late.

I heated us up some leftover chili.  The unlit birthday cake sat on the kitchen counter.  Later, as I cleaned up the dishes, I covered it with the cake cover. 

I caught Chloe on her cell phone after 8:00, breaking one of her few rules.  We had an argument and both ended up crying.  We both felt pretty sorry for ourselves.  We talked a little about her boyfriend troubles.  I ended up saying, “I’m sorry you were mad at me,” and she said, “I’m sorry you had a bad birthday.”

Later on, Cord called me.  “I’m sorry your birthday was so crappy.”

“Yeah, it was,” I sniffed. 

“I have a nice new couch and tables.  Vernon had a rug to put with them.  It looks like Grandma’s over here.”

“You need that lamp, right?”

“Yeah.  You were right.”

Nothing.  I had a lump in my throat and couldn’t talk.

“Well, I’m really sorry about your birthday.”

“It’s OK.” 

Oh, well.  I didn’t want to turn 63 anyway.