The 4th on the Fourth

            My neighbor wished me “Happy Freedom Day” on the 4^thof July this year, and I looked at her a little strangely when she did. Though I know the history of the holiday, I’ve never thought of it as Independence Day. To me, it’s always been my mother’s birthday, and because of that, Fourth of July week has been my favorite week of the year ever since I was old enough to say “firecracker.”

            For a summer person, it’s hard not to love a holiday that only asks for you to go outside and have fun with your family, and that is what my family has always done. We have more than one box of 4^thof July decorations (red, white and blue string lights, check), and we’re the first family to purchase any special edition 4^thof July candy, cookie or chip at the grocery store. We’re also probably the only crew around who has specially painted flowerpots for the 4^thof July. Think of us as the Griswolds of Independence Day. 

            For so many 4^thof Julys, we’ve thrown a big birthday party for mom at our family’s cottage on Lake Tillery, complete with a red, white and blue birthday cake. I can count on one hand the years that we didn’t do this, and this was one of those years. Sadly, my mom spent her 82^ndbirthday on the fourth floor of the hospital. 

            An X-ray turned into a scan and then another scan, then a biopsy, then a scope, another scan and finally a diagnosis. My mom has terminal cancer, and all that’s left to do is love her and make her as comfortable as possible. 

            For her birthday, we filled her room with patriotic balloons, a giant Snoopy wearing a red, white and blue top hat (mom and I adore Snoopy) and cupcakes. Every nurse and doctor who visited that day wished her a happy birthday, and in one of mom’s more lucid moments, she joked that the hospital was still going to charge her for the day even though it was her birthday. 

            I spent the night with her that night. Even though we didn’t have an official diagnosis at that point, in my heart I knew that this would be her last birthday and I wanted to share it with her. We each ate a bagel with cream cheese for dinner. (That’s all either of us could manage.) Then we watched the end of Jurassic Park and the beginning of a Madea movie. Soon the birthday girl went to sleep. 

            As I made a bed out of the foldout couch, I heard a couple of booms outside. “Oh, how I’d love to see some fireworks,” I thought. A moment later I looked out the window to see a green and yellow explosion scraping the sky, reminding me that it was indeed my mother’s birthday. (I know it sounds like a Disney movie, but it really happened.) That’s the only firework I saw that night, but I’ll remember it more than any firework extravaganza I’ll ever attend because it was the ultimate Wink of Goodness. It was the light that I needed.

            In the past week, I’ve experienced more emotions than a super-size Crayola box. My dad and I have spit venom at each other fighting about how to best take care of mom, followed by apologies, hugs and tears. For so long, we have been a family of three, and none of us wants to downsize to a party of two. The realization that this is inevitable sparks all sorts of feelings and thoughts, especially when it’s your sweet mother, and in my dad’s case, your wife of 60 years. 

            Sometimes those feelings come out right side up, and other times they come out jumbled and hurtful. Regardless, you have to keep going because it’s the circle, and the circle is everything — it keeps going through goodness and heartache. 

            My mom and I have had a couple of good conversations during the past week when the Alzheimer’s fog clears and her eyes renew their sparkle. These talks contain the things you really need to say but often don’t. As I listen to her, I try to sear each word to my brain because I know that soon that’s all I’ll have left. That and boxes of 4^thof July decorations waiting for a celebration.