As a warning, this particular chronicle is not funny. It's actually rather depressing. But is somewhat embarrassing. I'll let you be the judge.
There are certain birthdays that people look forward to more than others. 8 for baptism...12 to get out of primary...16 to start dating...18 to be an official "adult"...21 (although since we don't drink as Mormons this birthday isn't quite as hyped).... Anyway, I was about to have one of those special days. The big 1-8. March 27. It even conveniently fell on a weekend. I was about to become an adult, and as my birthday neared I couldn't help but be excited. Of course, family traditions were what made these kind of events even more special. The main thing that I always looked forward to was the impeccable and creative cake my sweet mother would make the night before. I wasn't planning any kind of birthday party--at the time I sort of had a phobia of social situations. But a party just with my family was good enough for me.
Then, somewhat unexpectedly, my great-grandmother passed away just a few days before my birthday. I mean, she was 89 years old, but she hadn't been terribly sick. My grandparents even came home from their mission in Ecuador to deal with the situation since they hadn't exactly been planning on it. The funeral was planned for Saturday, March 26, and my out-of-state siblings flew in to be there.
Since she was elderly, her passing wasn't terribly difficult at first. It was simply her time to go. But I was the closest to her out of the great-grandchildren, and had spent many hours with her conversing about her life and my life and just life in general. So after the initial reaction wore off, I found myself needing to mourn, but had no convenient way of doing so, as now my home was full of people. I just needed a little "cry time" but there was no feasible way of doing so with so many people around, and I refused to cry in front of people. This naturally created some inner tension and emotional turmoil, but I handled it. At least all of my siblings would be here for my birthday, right?
Saturday rolled around. The funeral was really nice. My mom had taken the assignment of the "after-funeral party" (what exactly would you call that???) which meant providing most of the food as well. The typical finger foods and a chocolate Costco cake were bought and partially consumed. Throughout the day, I kept having a gnawing feeling that tomorrow's birthday festivities would not be exactly how I'd hoped. More inner turmoil. That thought made me feel extremely guilty--it was my great-grandma's funeral and I was worrying over my birthday! Really?? Guilt fest. More inner turmoil. I held on to a small glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, I would still at least get a birthday cake. But it wasn't looking too good.
I arose the next morning. I walked into the kitchen and made a quick scan. I knew it had been too much to expect my mom to make me a birthday cake after everything she'd had to do the day before, but I'll admit I still felt a sharp pang of disappointment. Then, my eye caught something else. There, on the counter, sneering at me in subtle mockery lay the half-eaten brown frosted glob of a funeral cake... yes....my birthday cake. I tried not to think about it. But I couldn't help but make the mental connection that in some sick twist of fate a funeral cake was laying there presenting itself on the day of my 18th birthday. In my mind, I tried to laugh it off as an ironical joke. But all of the emotional turmoil inside me had gradually been building up over the course of the week, and I was probably PMSing on top of it. I tried hard to contain myself.
Shortly after, my mom came in. She sincerely apologized for not having been able to make me a birthday cake. I understood--please don't judge me as selfish. But at this moment, I tried to brush it off by pleasantly joking, "Don't worry, haha, I'll just have a funeral cake as my birthday cake!" I began to laugh. And then, as if someone had turned a switch, my laugh suddenly transformed into hysterical, wracking sobs. It was like a trigger had gone off and I had no self-control. The dam had broken and there was no stopping it. I was so ashamed of crying (crying is an understatement--it was a full-on emotional breakdown) that I began to leave. But as I was trying to leave, my older brother happened to be walking in. He pulled me to him and I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed into his chest. Bless his heart for the mascara and drool stains I probably smeared onto his white shirt. Somehow, in the course of the next few minutes, I ended up in my bedroom sobbing my eyes out into my pillow, feeling like a horrible person and that my birthday had been ruined.
I found out a couple years later, that while I was having a teary pity party by myself, my dad had called everyone else to a "family counsel" in the parental bedroom to discuss what to do with the situation, as me having complete breakdowns in front of everyone wasn't a common occurrence. I don't know exactly what was decided. But once I had gathered myself together, we celebrated my birthday, not with funeral cake, but with some pink "sympathy" cupcakes that our friend Robin had dropped off for us sometime that weekend. It was a step up to say the least. At least pink was my favorite color, and much more cheery-looking than a morose dirt brown.
Thank you Robin, for saving my birthday. :)
No comments:
Post a Comment