I celebrated a birthday recently. Well, point of fact, I'm still celebrating. There remains a brunch to share with the son. Given the mixed schedules of the three principals in my life and because of the fact of our lives, celebrations are varied and spread over a few days.
Works for me. Birthday celebrations should extend beyond the day, especially after a certain age, yes? Anyhoo . . .
Much of the actual day, Thursday was spent with mom. Apropos, I suppose given that she was a key player in the very first.
Hanging out with my mom can be challenging primarily because her conversational gambit is 20 (or 100) questions and the impending or actual death (of others) one of her favorite topics. She opened our lunch by re-visiting the topic of Rose. Days earlier she'd related Rose's death:
Mom: You remember me telling you about Rose?
Mom: You know, the lesbian?
Me: Oh yes, the lesbian. I just didn't know her name was Rose. What about her?
Mom: She died. And she was your age. She would have been 49 in August.
As of Thursday, some 13 or more days since Rose's death no burial or other disposition has taken place. It seems the family or partner don't have the means and . . .
. . . well, I won't subject you to any more of the conversation, it wasn't (as you might imagine) very chipper. Looping in my mind was the thought, the best thing about turning 49, is turning 49, happy birthday to me.
Still, given the givens, it was not a bad restaurant (oh, my mom and restaurants, a whole other issue) experience. There was another woman celebrating her birthday with a woman (I presumed was her mother, though could have been, a partner--no, on closer inspection, certainly not a partner, but perhaps not mother either) anyhoo, the woman, after hearing my mother order (very loudly) a piece of cake for me (she pretended to be afraid that the staff would start to sing, "happy birthday" thankfully, they didn't*) came to our table and announced, "it's my birthday too!! 7-30-1966!" We exchanged pleasantries and happy birthday greetings.
While sitting on a bench outside the restaurant (mom's breathing is becoming more, and more labored. Troubling, that. And yes, we're looking into the causes and possible remedy) in the midst of talking more about Rose, adding the deaths of John and her sister's (another Rose) displeasure with her son, she announced, "you look younger than she did, that woman in the restaurant."
Well, now . . . I don't know about me looking younger but I sure was looking (she was pretty cute).
Anyhoo . . . one of mom's many questions of the day was, "do you know what time you were born?" I hadn't committed the time to memory and I don't peer my birth records very often, but I did take a look, because I knew she would ask again and the next time, I'd have the answer, 11:50 a.m.
*one day I'll share the Joe's Crab Shack birthday celebration.