HOW ARE YOU?

Being outgoing does not mean I thrive on attention. In fact, I shrink from it at certain times. Maybe it has something to do with wanting to be in control of when or if I receive notice. Getting caught off guard by a flood of attention triggers my flight reaction. Tears might surface if it is a touching situation, and I would not want others to see that.

As another birthday creeps up on me, I am reminded of the year I had an "unbirthday." It was horrible. I had a feeling my husband was going to try to pull off a surprise party for me. I did not want one. Under normal circumstances, something sweet like that would cause my eyes to well up...a definite no-no that would unglue me in front of friends and family. But that particular year was anything but normal, and I was sure I would sob nonstop if a party was held.

I repeatedly told my husband that he best not dare do anything in honor of my birthday. I wanted nothing. I wanted not to be the center of any attention. I was very firm and probably almost hysterical in tone of voice as I told him that.

For as long as I can remember, birthdays were a big deal to my father with his four daughters. As we were growing up, the birthday girl got to choose a restaurant and go out on a "date" with Daddy. Just Daddy and the birthday girl. Mom stayed at home preparing the cake of our choice, made from scratch. It was always a special time to be with him without anyone else around. To be the focus of his attention was wonderful.

Once we married, the one-on-one dinner dates with him stopped. In its place was the first phone call of the day from Daddy. The one wishing us a happy birthday. He never missed a year. And he was never caller number two or three. That phone rang early, and it was Daddy with his wishes for a happy day. It always set the upbeat mood of the day. He loved his girls.

My unbirthday year was wretchedly sad. Daddy had suffered the brain aneurysm. He had spent those many months in the hospital and rehab center. He came home, and we were trying to make that work for his sake. Within two months, it was painfully evident his health was declining. He was severely crippled and becoming even more so. I saw him daily. I saw him physically slipping away from us. The repeated trips to the emergency room were taking a toll on his health and abilities...what few he had.

On the day of my birthday, I received that annual morning phone call from him. My eyes lit up and a smile burst onto my face when I heard my Daddy's voice. But, it was a tiny voice. It was so very soft and very quiet. He kept repeating, "How are you?" I waited for those two words. I just needed to hear him say them. Then it would really be my birthday. My mother was holding the phone for him, and I could hear her saying numerous times, "Honey, tell her happy birthday." Instead, all he could say was, "How are you?" Over and over and over.

I was very cheerful and told him that his number three daughter was packing on the years. I joked about anything and everything I could think of. All the while I was silently pleading for him to wish me a happy birthday. He never did say it. I told him I loved him before we ended the conversation. I was so sad and so scared. I knew it was the beginning of the end for him.

As I hung up the phone, I fell apart. I am not sure the last time I cried as hard or for as long as I did then. As far as I was concerned, my birthday did not exist. It would not be celebrated, because it was truly an unbirthday in my mind. The one thing that had always made it feel like it was MY day had not taken place. Therefore, it was not happening. Thankfully, my husband had honored my wishes not to put any emphasis on the occasion. I would never have been able to charm any partygoers in my state of mind.

It was but a few days later that Daddy was rushed to the emergency room. He never got to live at home again. His remaining years were spent in hospitals and a nursing home slowly withering away. And that unbirthday of mine exists only because my birth certificate says it does.

"Our birthdays are feathers in the broad wing of time." ~Jean Paul Richter