Birthday Celebrations

Turning 18 is a wonderful day.  The day where we emerge as adults, exfoliating the last remanence of childhood - I learned this quickly in the coming year. Many 18 year old's worry about what college is going to be like or what job they will obtain.  They are riding the thrill of graduating high school.  They're thriving on the independence from their parents.  Some embark on a road trip with friends or backpacking through Europe.  

I did this too.  My best friend Mary and I hit the road to Colorado from Minnesota.  We spent two weeks, at the end of  June and beginning of July, traveling in my 1989 Jetta Volkswagen.  The car was creamed color with crank windows and crank sun roof.  I was in love with it!  We had our tent, bags, cigarettes, and freedom.  We sped through South Dakota viewing the Badlands, Mount Rushmore, Crazy Horse, and Deadwood. Always keeping the car running, for fear the starter wouldn't connect again. We spied Devil's Tower from a distance bemoaning the fact if we turned my car off we would be thumbing a ride to Cheyenne, Wyoming. We made mechanic friends along our journey, Christopher and his dad in Wall Drug, South Dakota, working late into the night. Only to discover that the wrong starter was shipped. In Cheyenne our tow truck driver, who had owl like eyes, refused to charge us for the lift. The car behaved properly for all the mechanics in Wyoming and Colorado, but left Mary and I stranded in a KOA in Cheyenne, in Deadwood for an extra day, and in Custer State Park.

We never could stay at a place long because my car refused to start unless it had twenty-four hours to cool back down.  After two starters and arriving back, my own mechanic in Minnesota discovered, that my starter relay kit that was faulty, not the actual starter.  This trip was just the beginning of honing my problem solving skills. In August I left behind all my friends, and a mother who's health seemed to be failing her.

My mother, an active woman facilitating support groups, teaching juvenile delinquents not to use anger, attending various meetings, and chauffeuring my brother and I around to Tae Kwon Do tournaments, was tired for a year or so before she was diagnosed with her disease.  It all started the last part of my senior year of high school.  My mom was an avid walker with our dog Hoops, but she soon found that she no longer could walk the two miles. She'd return home, face pale like freshly fallen snow, perplexed as to why she couldn't maintain a distance. She'd visit doctor after doctor, determined to find an answer, but doctors kept telling her she was fine.  The tests came back normal.  This lasted for an entire year until a doctor finally listened to her and sent her to Abbott Hospital in Minneapolis for a full heart test.  By my 19th birthday the tests determined she needed a pace-maker.  

On the day of my birthday, I sat in my mom's hospital room. The room was white, cold, with blue curtain to divide the room, sterile instruments beeping, swishing, sucking the life out while trying to keep people a live, but the room, for me, was filled with warmth of a mother's love.  It was like she and I were drinking coffee in the comfort of soft coaches at City Perks - a local coffeehouse. We talked about everything — what bills to pay, what my plans were, how she was sorry she couldn't be there more.  She encouraged me to go out and have fun with my friends but I wanted to be there with her.  I knew it was important for me to be there.  Even though at that time it didn't register to me, I knew this was my last birthday with my mom.   She handed me this letter to me that passed along all of her wisdom.  She was preparing me for life without my mom.  She was helping me to become a woman. 

 Dearest Tamera - 

As I am lying here in this hospital bed this morning, I am remembering another hospital stay 19 years ago and the promise that day held and the great reward it gave me — a  beautiful baby girl.

Activity wise this birthday may not be very exciting, visiting your mother in the  hospital, possibly going out with some friends but this birthday is special this is a threshold birthday (the doorway to being an adult).  I am sure you know all of the things I am about to say - I say them because I love you and want to spare you from the mistakes I made so you can go out and make different  ones.  Then you can pass on my message and yours to your children.

 *Listen objectively and with an open mind.  There are many different  ideas and 

 thoughts out there, listen to what all people have to say and base your beliefs 

 and decisions on what feels right to you.

 *Always give people a second chance.  People (strangers & family) make mistakes,

 they are only human.  Allow them  to apologize and try again, but don't become a 

doormat and let them mistreat you.

 *Be strong in your beliefs (not overpowering). Allow people the same freedom

 allowed you, the ability or option to disagree without it being held against you.

As I have often told people I've spoken to, diverse thoughts and ideas are what

makes this country a great place.

  

*Like yourself and get to know yourself.  You are not how society sees you or how

 other people see you.  You are how you see yourself.  If you see a strong, vibrant

 young woman that is what you will be.

   

*Know that your family will always love you (present & future family). Always be fair and respectful in your dealings with them.

 Have a wonderful 19th birthday, I love you and will always be there for you in the physical as well as the spiritual.

     

 Your Mom,

 Denise

My birthday wish, at the time, was just to have my mom back home — healthy. I envisioned us playing scrabble under the oak tree adjacent to our town house, on a summer evenings, sipping my Grandmother's ice tea. I wanted to take those two, five, seven mile walks throughout the woods surrounding our Chaska, MN home. I grasped to hope as if I was dangling from a precipice that this pacemaker would be the cure all and my mom would be healthy again. This was to become my daily mantra for the next seven months.