I have tried to be mature about birthdays rarely meeting my expectations. Things are supposed be different after you get an earned doctorate . . . well they are not. But even today . . . the day after my birthday I still feel the depression that comes with my birthday.
I admit that I sound rather juvenile to myself today, and I may to you. But then this is my blog, and if I feel the same way, I figure that others also feel the same way.Yeah, it is supposed to be a day where you mark the passing of another year of life.
Okay, being 44 does not bother me—I have lived two years longer so far than Elvis. I have hated birthdays because I have rarely got what I wanted: parties. At age 44, I am way beyond toys; I just wanted the people around me where I am locally to show that they care--it is called sympathy and respect.
Like many people I blame my parents for the childhood stuff. Mom was always chasing the ghost of self-worth. Mom was working all the time, showing everyone what a hard worker she was. She spent all her energy on her self-worth versus putting it into us kids. She will still rationalize that it was for us kids to go to college, but it still doesn’t wash and there is no discussion with her. It also sucked that it was never my birthday during school. Dad had to move us out to the country where there were no other kids around to play with or come to parties. There were only two birthday parties I remember as a kid.
Part of me is saying at this point, “Is your head up your butt?” Your wife is in the hospital with a serious medical condition and you’re pouting over no one remembering your birthday?
Well, today marks one week of my wife being in the hospital. What was a stomach ache one week ago Thursday (6/4/09) kept going and proved to be a shunt failure Saturday morning in the E.R. and a shunt replacement (brain surgery) Sunday night with her head getting half-shaved.
My wife was stepped down to an acute rehab facility on Thursday. My 6-year-old reminded my 9-year-old that it was my birthday and my 9-year-old wished me a happy birthday. My mother called me early in the morning to wish me happy birthday. She regressed yesterday and did not remember it was my birthday yesterday until late yesterday.
My birthday gift was watching her suffer from further pressure on the brain and a fear that she was going to have to have the shunt replaced again or perhaps even dying on my birthday. When her condition improved later in the day she remembered it was my birthday from my kids prompting and apologized for not remembering it--her I gave some slack--she is truly out of it. But I did not want my wife dying on my birthday--then it would really suck for the rest of my life.
Yeah, I bought a birthday cake last night because my 6-year-old asked about it--it was the $18.99 triple chocolate one from the refrigerated case--it was fair but not very good. My son did not get a piece of it because of his tantrum at a church miniature golf outing.
My one gift to myself was a quick-pick powerball ticket, maybe I will become an instant millionaire and be able to pay the large hospital bills that are coming my way.
The check last week and the phone call yesterday morning from mother were cheap consolation. The stingy birthday card written my airhead aunt on behalf of her household was sadly insulting. The two, automatically generated e-mails and the one e-mail car from family where slightly pleasant but not at all soothing to my pain.
It was not a happy birthday and anyone telling me happy birthday would have been terribly obtuse.
What I would have liked.
I would have liked someone locally to say in person, Gee, I am sorry that your wife is in the hospital on your birthday. That must really suck.
The inner parent is trying tell my inner child that it is okay—you will make it. My inner parent is trying to tell my inner adolescent that this is life--your birthday is going to be another day sometimes. You are going to have days where there is not going to be the money and there are going to be more pressing events and issues.
I am not sure what else there is to say at this point. This is a day where I am making the best of it. I am basically seeing that my kids have what they need, I am otherwise subsisting today. The times are still hard. The times are particularly hard right now. I am trying to reframe that I should be glad that I still have my job, my boss understands my situation (which is rare) , I have the medical benefits to pay for most of the medical care, and I have what I need right now—even if it is awkward, lonely and painful.
Mind you I am trying to be thankful in my attitude. The reality is that even being thankful does not make everything feel perfect and happy. Pain is pain. God does not always relieve us of pain. He enables us to endure it.
Life sometimes is like being stranded in Palm Beach Florida. You would think that it should be nice, but it is one of the most driven, unfriendly places that has been ruined by being overbuilt by overly aggressive developers. There are lots of people but they are not paying attention to you. That is what most of us are experiencing anyway in this world.
