Eighty-Seven Candles

At midnight local London time, I called Nana to wish her a happy birthday "from the future." She got a kick out of it and went on chatting about everything she planned to do for her special day. Then she casually noted that she never thought she'd have to plan 87 birthday parties. Nan frequently comments on her longevity to be funny – and although she puts no weight behind her words, they feel like a punch to the gut.

Before I left for the UK, I spent a week trying to write her birthday card. I struggled to find the right words: words that could wrap her in a celebratory hug since I wouldn't have the chance to do so this year. I eventually took the blank birthday card into a sandwich shop in hopes of being distracted by the bustle, but tears still welled up in my eyes as I wrote, “Cheers to your 87th year.”

Many of you may know the famed Nana, if only through storytelling. She’s a force to be reckoned with. She’s also a laugh riot on most days, spouting out one-liners that could land her on a TV show. In quieter moments, she’s my guiding light. I feel more connected to her as we grow older together – even at 56 years and 4 days apart. We seem to share more in the same joy, the same love, even the same sadness.

To turn back the clock: when I was in high school, Nan was already in her early 70’s. The generational difference alone would have been cause for battle, let alone my unwavering love of sarcasm. I remember being 16 years old, in the height of my teenage angst, and being unable to fathom a time in which we'd be able to see eye to eye. I inherited my love of argument from her (and repeated viewings of To Kill a Mockingbird) and she...well, she loves being right even more than I do. There were many daylong arguments, but there were a few beautiful moments of peace too. Even if we had just had a blowout over the length of my (knee-length!) skirt, it was an unspoken rule that we could still curl up on the couch and watch The Weather Channel.

Our tempers evened when I moved out for college, but we’d still bicker when I returned home during school breaks  It wasn’t until my mid-20’s that we started to come back together. I cannot call upon something specific that would explain the shift; to begin, it was simply a better understanding of the other person. I was more confident in the adult I was growing into and was able to communicate my thoughts without slipping into the high-pitched squeal that accompanied many of my youthful tirades. She was finally sharing the unfiltered versions of her life stories, and it was here that we found common ground.

It was also around this time that I began to fear the idea of aging, not for myself but for my grandparents. I briefly felt it when I moved away to college, but it was more of a nervousness than full-blown fear with a capital F.

Let me tell you, Fear is an ugly beast. It takes continuous effort to not let it grow stronger and paralyze. It’s difficult to articulate, but the latter half of my 20’s was spent transforming this Fear into something that better suits my character. I haven’t quite identified what that is, but it’s something caught between motivation, gratitude and mindfulness. Whatever it is, it stops me from departing for the airport without giving my loved ones an extra squeeze. 

I visit my grandparents as often as possible, and try not to allow more than 6-8 weeks to pass between visits. I’m fortunate to have a boss who allows me to work remote from their home in Florida. Nana and Gee have absolutely no idea what I do for a living, but they fuss about it like I’m busy saving lives. Grandpa prepares his office for my arrival, which includes booting up Windows 6 on his computer “in case my laptop stops working.” Nana collects piles of newspaper clippings about the healthcare industry (she’s at least ascertained that much) so I can have up-to-date research at my disposal. Nan adorably doesn’t fully understand the breadth of information that’s accessible via an iPhone, but that’s another blog post.

Yet, I love it. I love the week I spend with them, even when they are interrupting me every five minutes to inquire about trivial items such as where so-and-so's dad’s sister worked in 1999. Admittedly, it's often in hindsight that I become intensely aware of how fortunate I am to have these moments. I don’t say that dripping with mushy, sentimental cheesiness but with the acknowledgement that you never know about life. There are no guarantees – and there are many who painfully know this better than I do. Fear loves to wait in the realm of the unknown for its chance to creep back into my subconscious. In fact, it’s happening right now. In this moment, I'm keenly aware that I’m only 30 years old, but my (grand)parents may never dance with me at my wedding. They may never have the chance to babysit my children. They may never cheer me on when I decide to drop everything to follow my dreams of becoming a 3rd grade teacher. They may never…

Full stop.

And that’s where I will stop typing, exactly where I am mentally right now. Life is not meant to be lived clouded by Fear. I was raised by two remarkable people who taught me to be stronger than that.

It’s true: my grandparents may never share in many of the wonderful things that are hopefully in my future. Logic tries to explain this to me by pointing to their age. But they’ve already done so much in the 24 years they’ve been in my life. They saved me from neglect. They protected me from abuse. They spent countless hours in a hospital trying to improve my quality of life. They saved me in many ways. You can imagine why I selfishly want more years with them.

Let’s not kid ourselves, they did plenty of “normal” parent things too. They taught me to tie my shoes. On more nights than not, they managed to convince me to wear my dental retainer. They embarrassed me nonstop from 1999-2005. Nana once unabashedly unbuttoned her blouse entirely because she was having a hot flash and continued chatting with me and my (first) boyfriend as if nothing had happened. I don’t know who was most uncomfortable, but I can tell you that it wasn’t The Nana.

...I have a lot of fight in me by nature, probably because life has handed me my fair share of sour lemons. There are many people I can thank for teaching me how to harness it, but no one more than Nan. That fight, that zest, overcomes Fear. It recognizes that fortune outshines everything else. I look at a picture of our family and honestly feel blessed to have these people, these moments. I also feel a prick of panic because I know these moments are fleeting. I don't know if it’s common to glance at a photo and have it evoke so much emotion, but it’s my reality.

All that said, I still struggle to acknowledge Nan's 87th birthday, but she will never know that. The tears that briefly welled up over her birthday card are only for you and the patrons of that sandwich shop, who likely thought I was simply distraught over the ridiculously sad amount of avocado that was on my chicken sandwich.

Today is a day worth celebrating, for a woman who is worth celebrating. It's also a gentle reminder of why I move through the world in the way that I do. So today, I choose to proverbially blow out each of Nan's eighty-seven candles to keep Fear where it belongs: in the dark.