I do not pretend to know the obsession with what I am about to share, but it has been just that for forty years, an obsession. Thankfully, it is a good thing and not something that warrants therapy. One of my absolute, most favorite things to do for others is surprising them. Surprise visits, surprise gifts, birthday parties, cups of coffee, or their favorite treat, and one of the best surprises, though not THE best pulled off thus far, was a surprise wedding reception! That was so much fun. Just call me, “Sneaky Pete.”
Near the time of my mother’s 70th birthday, it dawned on me most of her friends were celebrating their golden anniversary and that would never happen for her since our father had died at 50. They barely made it to their 25th anniversary. I mused a celebration of her life was in order for this fabulous mother of mine. Why wait until she is dead. She wouldn’t be able to enjoy it then. No one enjoyed a party more than my Mom.
After gathering my thoughts for this over-the-top celebration of my Mom’s life, I spoke with my five siblings to see if they would join in the fun. The answer was a resounding yes. I gathered names and addresses of people from her childhood, relatives, co-workers, church and the community. To say this was a labor of love is a gross understatement. The invitation was designed and printed and requested the guests to write a letter about their favorite story pertaining to Mama. She was a hoot, so I was confident those letters would roll in without having to ask a second time.
We planned the color scheme, printed the photos, hired a caterer, booked the hall, and I started receiving letters in the mail, each more endearing than the last. My heart was so happy and expectant of this extraordinary day. As her birthday weekend rolled near, we requested her friend to keep her occupied that day which she gladly did. Later that afternoon, we picked Mom up under the guise of a piano recital with my son. Mom had played piano my entire life, and she was a top-notch alto as well. She always proudly attended piano recitals. She looked beautiful, although she always did, casually dressed, but somehow she seemed to be modeling the snazziest clothes from the high-end sportswear department. Mom sat in the back seat, spouting off all kinds of advice to the young pianist. If anyone could, she was the one.
We drove up to the venue; as we opened the double doors, the shouts of “Happy Birthday” rang loud and clear. Immediately, her beautiful hands grabbed her flushed face; her eyes began to leak and she was utterly speechless. One by one, her children and grandchildren embraced her and whispered sweet nothings. For a moment, we almost thought it was too much, but to see the joy on my precious mother’s face told me otherwise.
Childhood friends, co-workers, distant cousins, nieces, nephews, brothers and sisters, neighbors, her children’s friends, and their parents, and the list goes on. All here to honor and celebrate the life of my mother. People came from all over the country. It was indeed a sight to behold.
We escorted her around the room to show her all the old photographs we framed, the gifts, the cake, and decorations. We ushered her to the tables where the guests were seated. Some of the guests had been spoken of in our home, now for the first time, me and my siblings were putting a face with a name. It was a magical day. More than ever before, her children and grandchildren saw first-hand the impact this one individual we called Mama or Mamaw had made in so many lives. She was well-loved.
Fast-forward ten years when my mother was diagnosed with vascular dementia. After struggling at her home with daily tasks, she decided to move into an assisted living facility. She refused to live with me because, in her words, “It had been too long since she had been around kids all day.” Touche’. The move was volatile; I was there every day for months attempting to help her deal with all the changes, the doubts, the paranoia, and all that this disease entails. She moved into the facility in August and with her birthday approaching in November, I thought we could throw a “little” party to lift her spirits. I mean, I could use some joy right about then as well. It turns out the party was well received and did precisely what I proposed. Nearly every year from then on, I threw some party for her. It was one of my favorite times of the entire year. I got such joy planning, plotting, and finally pulling off each celebration. Our family and her friends were so good about joining us. One year I hired a band to play, and she danced until she was exhausted. On her 88th birthday, I had 88 cupcakes with the best flavors. We formed them in the shape of the number 88.
Unfortunately, the disease progressed and she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s; she eventually lost her sight in one eye and was moved to the Special Care unit after trying to “escape.” The parties were more low-key from that point on, but I have always been so thankful that we celebrated her life when she was in her prime. How were we to know what was to come?
This year, I dodged out of my decade of the ’50s and embraced being 60. My father’s family does not live
Friday night, I could not fall asleep, so I chose to go into our “man cave” and rock in the comfy recliners. They usually do the trick for me. As soon as I sat down, I heard a raccoon on our roof. I texted my husband, who was in another room watching
When we finally went to our beds, I found myself counting my blessings. I felt tears dripping from my eyes. The thought that kept crossing my mind was, “They get me.” Watching me surprise not only my mother but other family members and friends through the years, I guess it is safe to assume they were watching. The four stinkers had been planning this for a month, and it was such a memorable weekend. Oh, my heart
