My Birthday Present to Myself: Gratitude

[Note: I'm super tired and I haven't written much lately, but I wanted to get this out. This clearly follows my "Rough Draft" philosophy.]

Last weekend, I had a birthday party at the condo, which is the most beautiful and peaceful place I've ever lived. We had it catered by the same people who provided food for my friend James' memorial service. It was delicious. I had a small circle of my friends and their partners there.

I sent out the invitations to my party a few days after James' ceremony. James' widow said gratitude is the path to happiness. Somewhere in the days after the event, I decided to that I was going to give a little speech and tell everyone there what I appreciated about them.

It was the best week I've ever had locked in my own mind.

Jack and I moved here almost fifteen years ago and had no extended family in Seattle. So we had to make an extended family.

Some of my friends I've known for so long and see so often, it is hard to remember what specifically I like about them. They are like my water--essential and part of my every day, but also very hard to decide when you really think about it.

Like Monica. I've known her since the Boy was in preschool and he called Monica's daughter "the cute one." I served on more than a few PTA Boards with her. But what do I like best about her? She took a volunteer job that interacted lots of high maintenance parents and help the position with practicality and professionalism.

For Katie and Heidi, Katie took me to the hospital when the Boy had his tonsils out and Jack was in Egypt giving a talk. Heidi took Claire-Adele for three days so I could nurse the Boy back to health. And I didn't have to ask them to help. They told me how they were going to help.

I thought and I thought and I thought, and the more I thought, the happier I became. I don't think I've ever had a better week.

Memorial

Normally, I write blog posts when my thoughts are fresh, immediately after things have happened.

I marinated on this one for a week.

Last Sunday afternoon, I attended the memorial service for a friend of mine--younger than me--who died of some hideous and unpronounceable cancer. He left behind a wife and two teenage daughters, one the age of Claire-Adele and one the age of the Boy. I knew James better than his wife, so attending the memorial service was kind of odd since half of the people in attendance were friends of the wife and I didn't know many of his friends.

James was a dad at the school where Claire-Adele and the Boy attended. One day when Claire-Adele was probably in second grade, I ended up talking to James in the main lobby of the school outside of the volunteer room and school office. I have no idea how we got there, but we started talking about our siblings and their battles with mental illness. James sister had committed suicide in her twenties, and my brother has schizophrenia.

This clearly went beyond the standard chit-chat that normally takes place in the lobby of elementary schools. Later, I got to know James as we coached Math Champs and saw each other at various holiday parties and events. He was a great conversationalist: easy to talk to, a good listener, and he always had interesting things to say. The sad thing is that I would have gotten to know him better if he were a mom instead of a dad, or even a co-worker. It is generally frowned upon to ask another mom's husband to go for coffee or for a walk around Green Lake.

And now he's gone.

Last weekend, I was in a funk. Jack and the Boy were in Canada skiing, and I was by myself. I hung out with two friends and planted twenty-nine geraniums and one poppy in the containers at my condo. Dinner, brunch and gardening are perfect way for me to avoid a funk, but they weren't a strong enough patronus to keep the dementors away last weekend.

So I accepted my sadness and went to the memorial service. As I walked in, I wondered what I was going to get out of this, not in the transactional sense of "what's in this for me," but rather what will I learn or take away from something that by itself seems so senseless.

Aside from the wife--I mean widow (egads--I had never thought of Janet as a widow), I was the only one from the elementary school crowd who was there without a spouse.

The ceremony started at one o'clock at the Urban Horticulture Center. James and family were atheists, so this was a secular ceremony. One of James' friends from high school in Cleveland brought a guitar sang a few songs he wrote, and talked about how he had known James since middle school. Middle school. There were six boys who were inseparable. Now, the neighborhood we live in is almost all white, so I was surprised that half of James' school friends were black. I never would have guessed.

James' mother spoke, then Janet, then his daughters. James mother spoke of the night he born--six minute of labor, if I recall correctly. Janet spoke about their love for Star Trek, and how her high school self would be appalled that she knew anything so dorky. James and Janet met in college working on the school newspaper. She was a year older, and was an editor. She talked about how when he found something, he went all in, like when he became vegan. Her talk was funny and light, then at times painfully sad.

"How do we make sense of this?" Janet asked. "How can we be happy after something so devastating?" I wondered the same thing, was hoping she had a good answer.

"Gratitude is the path to happiness," she said, "I am grateful for my family and friends who have been here for me. I am happy for James' friends and co-workers who were so patient and kind as he convalesced."

James' other friends spoke.

"I remember our senior year how we wre both going to ask girls to prom. We were both turned down, and so we went to an amusement park that night instead to get our minds off what we were missing."

"When James said he was going to ask out Janet, I thought 'Right. She is so out of your league. She hangs out with the cool kids.'"

I sat next to Gretchen, a friend of mine who is part of the group who goes to dance clubs once every few months. She looked at me a said, "Let's hang out more. I don't want to learn all about you after you are dead." I smiled and thought my god she is right.

And I thought about what I am grateful for.

I am grateful for the smiling barista at the coffee shop around the corner from my house.

I was grateful the coffee shop had Dolly Parton, Pasty Cline and Mary Chapin Carpenter on their play list.

And then my thoughts became broader...

I am grateful for my kids, family and friends.

I am grateful for my dog.

I am grateful for my job with interesting co-workers.

I am grateful for my health.

I am grateful I live in a place with wonderful physical beauty.