Blow Out The Candles

Life is a paradox. As I reach the mid century mark of my life, my eyesight seems to be dimming at an astounding rate. The puzzling part is that all of a sudden I can see things so much more clearly. For instance, when I received a birthday card, the print was not too legible, but the message was unmistakable. The time and effort that it took to even think about getting out, buying a card, finding the correct address, putting on a stamp, and ultimately getting it to the post office spoke much more loudly than the words on the card. How strange it was to have this message of caring become so apparent from a birthday card that I could not even decipher! Becoming even more evident to me was the fact that I should probably take a closer look at the other things in my life that always seemed to be so simple and straightforward. And, since January is the month of never ending birthdays in our family, I thought I would start by examining that particular celebration. As I continue to ponder where I came from and how I got to this point, I become increasingly aware that my perfectly normal life was never perfectly normal. My 50 year old weakened eyes and my slowly reviving heart have helped me to focus on the ironies that have always surrounded me. My eyes were strong but I could not always see. I continue to be grateful, I think, that great vision in life does not kick in too early. What a discovery now to be able to covet all of the new that I have found in all that is old.

Was it normal to have a picture taken of the birthday girl? Certainly! Many families take both candid and posed shots of the celebrated one on their special day. Our house was no different in that respect. Or so I thought. I did not realize that in other houses every member of the family did not have their birthday picture taken all on the same day. The date simply made no difference in our home. Mom would make a tall, beautiful cake; adorn it with candles and place it on the table. When it was my turn, I would stand behind the cake and smile for the camera. The number of burning candles precisely depicted the number of years that I had been alive. Pretty normal, huh? It is clear to see now that somehow my family always had some sort of little twist to these otherwise normal events. In fact, the oddity surrounding our birthday pictures did not become evident to me until I was standing much further away. Let me explain. The production took place every January and it went like this. I would stand tall in the chair and have my birthday picture taken and then I would proceed to blow out the candles. There was no one singing “happy birthday” so that is not why I would extinguish the candles on the cake. I would blow out the candles so that mom could take my candles off of the beautiful cake and put on the next set of candles. She would add or subtract candles depending on who was next in line. She would grab the next kid, slick down his or her hair, light another set of candles and take a picture of that child in front of “their” birthday cake! Then, they would blow out their candles in order to get ready for the next person up. Clearly, this was pure genius! I don’t remember thinking that then, but now it is ever so clear. Here is the line up of birthdays following Christmas. Jimmie was born December 28th, I was born January 3rd, Walden’s birthday is January 5th, Papa’s birthday was January 7th, and my Mom was born on January 9th. All of these birthdays followed massive amounts of food and celebrating for days upon end at Christmas. Why not make just one more cake and switch out candles to insure that everyone had their picture made in front of the cake that year? Obviously there was no way to tell what excitement might be happening on each person’s actual birthday so why not stage the pictures all at once? Now you might get the idea that this was the easy way out. Nope. We all still had our own birthday cake on our particular day. We just did not have to get all dressed up, have the film on hand, have the battery charged, have to stand still. Nor did we have to make sure the cake was pretty enough for a picture. We could delight in our day and stick our nose in the cake if we were infants or help bake the cake if we were older. On birthday picture day in January, there was always someone to make you smile for the camera and plenty of babysitters to keep the younger kids occupied while mom snapped pictures. She was determined to get a birthday picture of each of us. I never thought much about all of this until my kids were born. My girls have birthdays that all fall in a 3 week period of time. My vision cleared and the big picture came into focus when my third child, Emily’s first birthday rolled around. I concentrated on baking a most beautiful cake. Then, I lined them all up. Hair was slicked back, cameras were aimed, candles were lit and the moment was caught. It was their turn to blow out the candles and my turn to take a picture of their life. I hope that my kids can look back and have a clear picture of how we celebrated their day and know why birthdays are labeled happy. The picture should be clear, even if they can’t locate the photographs.

We recently held a celebration for my mom’s 88th birthday. We did take pictures and she did blow out the candles but nothing about this day was staged. Trying to immerse myself in my mother’s role at one point during the day, I took a rather secluded seat and sat back to watch the action. All ten of my brothers and sisters were present for the party. And, the majority of their families were also in attendance. The total count for the family, just my siblings and their families, was 78 people. Quite naturally the first thought to enter my mind as I started my observation was, “Just look what she started!” As I studied the eclectic group, I could see people that had traveled from every part of the country to be with mom. Each person started their life, and blew out their candles on the same cake, on the same day, in the same house in Navasota, Texas. How amazing it was to see how diverse the group had become and how close they remain. It is not just the one generation that so obviously feels the connection, but the bond is very real for all of the kids that have followed. The reason that Mom occasionally likes to just sit back and discreetly watch the action became obvious to me. Laughter filled the air. Everywhere. Happiness was the prevailing feeling and any observer would have no choice but to soak it up. Groups gathered around food, huddled close to the fireplace, and squished together on couches to reminisce and catch up. Happy as we all were to see each other, no one had more fun together than the cousins. As our kids’ stories and actions got more animated the longer they were together, I noticed that their children, Moms great grandchildren, just naturally felt at ease with one another as well. It was a huge Sunday Lunch that lasted all day long. I know that all families have reunions that are thoroughly enjoyed by everyone. I hope that their smiles reach as deep and their feelings are just as sincere as what I witnessed at this party. How did it happen? What caused all of these relations to be such genuine friends? What instills these feelings to continue through each generation? What was the secret that enabled each one of the eleven kids to go out and seek their fortunes in so many different directions? Maybe it was a combined birthday party each January. A party of pictures. The pictures became a movie this January and the answer to all of my questions became clear. The candles were lit and this time it was Mom standing behind the cake. Before she could pose the flashes from cameras exploded all around the room. Here was the reason we were all together. Here was the reason we all smiled. Strength of character and spirit may not be visible just by looking, but as Mom blew out her candles, it was easy to see.

January 22nd is the date of another birthday in our family. This was day that James was born. This January would have been his 50th birthday celebration. This was the third January 22nd since James’ death and it was, for me, the most difficult. I retreated to the lake and I cried myself to sleep on the 21st and I woke up with tears on the morning of the 22nd. I tried to infuse myself with strength by going for an early morning walk but the effort seemed futile. I convinced myself that this sorrow was so deeply rooted that I would never really recover from my loss. Though my heart was broken into a million pieces, it felt entirely too heavy. My kids called me one at a time and we consoled each other the best we could. After my kids called, the ringing did not stop. I got calls from Colorado, Massachusetts, New York, California, and Texas. The local crew of brothers and sisters checked on me all day long and I had to decide which one of my sibling’s dinner requests my kids and I would attend. We ended up at Martin and Jackie’s for dinner. It was just my kids, my grandkids, and me, but now I can see that because of their actions, my entire family was present for the celebration. I was the first to arrive and though my eyes were dry, I could feel the puffiness that resulted from the emotion of the day. One by one my kids came over and it was not long before we all began to smile. Perhaps I could not see the result right then, but as I looked back on that day, it was one of those moments that was all of a sudden so clear. Yes, my loss was huge. I grieved that I could never again celebrate life with this wonderful man. It was not my eyesight, but my family that helped me to focus. Each one gave me time to shed my tears and give in to my hurt for awhile. But with such ease they gave me the will to get back up. One more time. There were so many people giving my kids and me strength, it became clear that my heavy heart could not possibly be too heavy to lift. That evening I could finally feel James as we gathered around and blew out the candles on his favorite ice cream brownie sundae. As we made our toast, I understood that James was still with me as I looked at my kids and felt all of my family surrounding me. It reminded me of Januarys long ago. I thought that if he was here, we could slick back his hair, light the candles, and take a picture. I let myself smile and felt a little stronger. As I slipped into bed at the end of this day, I held a one sided conversation with James. I could see clearly enough then to let him know that we would be okay. He was not there but the picture was ever so clear.