Happy Birthday Susan

Susan turned seventy-three this week. Although we had been telling her that her birth date was coming up, still she woke up with no idea that it was her birthday. We discussed her age over pancakes, turkey bacon and coffee. After doing some calculations of her own she concluded that she was forty something, as usual. We didn’t argue. I do have to admit that the ill-logic of it all makes me laugh; how old would that make Jeff, and where do our adult children fit into this family tree? We chose to go with the flow. Her young self was ready for a fun day; but we have learned that a good time must be brought upon Susan carefully, easily and not in abundance. Over stimulation confuses her. So we gathered our daughters and took Susan for an early birthday outing. We certainly didn’t want to keep her out too late- she turns into a pumpkin (of sorts).

She was her usual out of sorts self, but we chose laughter over frustration as the mood of the day. So when I found her seated at the front of the store chowing down on gourmet cookies that she had just purchased, I tried to be patient. Of course she swore that her stomach was empty since she had obviously not had any breakfast. The fact that we were about to go out to lunch didn’t stop her munching. I kept my eye on her as I searched for clothes she might like and each time bringing them to her for evaluation. She sat like a queen cookie monster on her throne while I, her subject, ran back and forth with bright colored shirts and bottoms. The kicking of her legs as she sat munching ensured me that her birthday had gotten off to a good start.

We chose a new restaurant as our next stop since Susan was obviously famished. That is when things let loose- all things. Her birthday attire let loose at the waist upon our approach at the restaurant. We became aware of it when we heard an alarming cry for help behind us as we stepped onto the walkway that circled between the parking lot and the front of the restaurant. The twist of our heads revealed the view of her red pleated skirt let loose and now resting at her ankles. The elastic in her skirts these days, is simply not working for her. So after the initial shock of seeing Susan standing just outside the large windows where all the diners were surely surprised by the view of her bare legs, white undies and knobby knees, we attempted a rescue of sorts. Katrina, always the quick thinker, swooped in to rescue her while the rest of us tried to control our laughter.

We were greeted at the door by amused employees who smartly seated us at the opposite end of the restaurant sparing us the embarrassment of facing our fascinated audience. While entering, Susan uttered words of frustration, shock and horror at her dilemma. Something like, “This damn skirt won’t obey me anymore. I need a pin to hold it up. Look at these shoes, they are not flattering with this skirt so high.” Honestly, I could hardly answer her because of the humor in it all, but dishonestly, I lied. I sweetly chuckled out some sort of false encouragement, like, “Oh Mom, don’t worry, everyone dresses that way these days. You look just fine.” And as we passed the amused employees who were now going out of their way to get us seated, I said what I thought she needed me to say, “Just keep your back straight and hold your head high and nobody will even notice that your skirt is trying to slip down again.” Once inside, Katrina kindly assisted Susan in the bathroom where they fixed, tugged, straightened, pulled and clipped things back into place.

After Susan filled herself with a birthday brunch as if it might be her last, we felt compelled to get something new on her bottom. This time I put her inside a dressing room where I brought her gauchos and slacks until she found one she was happy with. She wanted it so much that she hung her red skirt on the hanger and kept the brown gauchos on her self. I asked the attendant if we could just leave the slacks on and pay at the register. I really didn’t want to deal with that old red skirt ever again.

Management escorted us to the register where Susan became confused and started yelling at me and cussing about where the black pants she had worn into this store were. She exclaimed that she was not a stupid shit who would go out without bottoms on. With a new audience of everyone within hearing range, I assured her that all her new black slacks were safely at home. Okay, so I didn’t mention that the red skirt was in the dressing room garbage, but I knew that if it came home with us, surely it would find itself causing another crisis on our next outing.

At home, Susan enjoyed strawberry shortcake followed by some gifts just for her. She cried the entire time she opened her gifts, especially the box from Stefanie. Homemade gifts from her granddaughters, classic old movies, and best of all, the smartly done family slide show Stefanie had made to help Mom remember everyone. She loved it and recognized almost everyone, especially herself. The background music kept repeating itself as the slide show played over and over. I reached my hand out to an emotional Susan and invited her to dance to her life. She accepted and we swirled and twirled and spun, all the while her eyes stayed fixed on the flashing of those from her life. We danced to life- her life, my life, all of life. I was proud of her for celebrating and glad that she chose to dance.

Happy Birthday Susan.