Happy Birthday, Mama

June 8^th, my mom’s birthday, was a day I had been dreading for quite some time. According to the grief books I have been reading, birthdays, anniversaries, and other special holidays following a loved one’s  kicking of the bucket death can be extremely difficult. So far the experts were spot on with Easter. My feelings during Mother’s Day were indifferent. The good Lord decided to throw me a bone, and I flew over 15 different time zones that day, inadvertently skipping the majority of that stupid holiday.  And yesterday, well it wasn’t so bad after all!

Lavish celebrations for my mom’s birthday were never really a tradition in our family. Throughout the years my dad would sometimes take her out to see a play, us kids, and in more recent years her grandkids, would make her cards covered in glitter and macaroni, my Aunt Nancy would send her flowers, my Grandma Strang gave her cookbooks, and her friends would remember her with calls and cards. Low key birthday were just fine with her. She was never one to make a fuss over herself, and she most certainly was not the diamond demanding kind of lady.

Simple gestures of love were always what my mom appreciated most. So with what would have been her 56th birthday approaching, I knew I wanted to do something in memory of her, something that was just a simple gesture of love.

I contemplated making my mom’s famous butterscotch oatmeal cookies, and giving them away to a poverty stricken taxi drivers, but I feared my random act of kindness might be mistaken as me wanting something more than a car ride. Visions of me being loaded up on the next camel outta Dubai, as the blushing bride to Mr. Pak McPakistan quickly came to my mind. Alas, I (butter) scratched that idea. Pun intended.  

So in the days leading up to her birthday I purposely made one of her favorite soups, White Chile, and froze all the leftover, just like she always did. I bought and burnt her favorite brand of candles, and enjoyed my apartment having the same lavender scent as the after shower body spray she always used. Thankfully, unlike the apartment I share with my Chinese roommate, my mom never smelled like half lavender and half mystery meat cooked in soy sauce.

On the topic of Ethnic food, several nights ago my friend Rajeev and I were having dinner at an authentic Indian restaurant (my first experience of this sort, food was delicious, but perhaps a bit on the spicy side for this Midwesterner), when he told me that the next day he was planning to volunteer at a local school for autistic children, and that I was welcome to join him. Knowing the words “volunteer” and “Gail Schutz” are basically synonyms, I jumped at the opportunity to give of my time, the day before her birthday, in her memory.

My day of volunteering was a really cool experience, but very different than any type of volunteering I had done with schools and other social services in the USA. Unlike the extensive background checks I normally undergo to volunteer, I literally just walked right into the school and was assigned a classroom to assist. Within five minutes of being inside the classroom, the teacher informed Rajeev and me that she was going to escort a child to therapy, and asked that we keep an eye on the remaining students. While I was flattered by her trust, in my puzzled mind I was thinking, “YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW ME!”

After spending several hours assisting children with word comprehension, handwriting exercises, and math worksheets, we bid farewell to the students. I wouldn’t go out on a limb and say I’m the next Mother Theresa, or Gail Schutz for that matter, but I was happy to have volunteered in my mom’s memory, and I knew she would have been so proud.  

Yesterday was the big Kahuna, her actual birthday. I floated in the pool, went for a run, met up with friends later that evening for cocktails, and overall spent a lot of time thinking about my mom. It was a nice birthday.

I’ve always loved birthdays, not just for the cake, ice cream, and presents (although I am a big fan of all those things), but because it represents life. I’m not a genius, I don’t understand the whole purpose of it, but I do know that it’s short and it’s precious. Life is something to be enjoyed and lived vibrantly. My mom got that. In her 55 years she didn’t just make a slight difference on Earth; I think she changed the course of humanity. That may sound a bit dramatic, but, without ever knowing it, she served as such an influential person in so many people’s lives. I truly believe that her legacy of service, generosity, kindness, and love will impact generations to come!

In the card she slipped into my suitcase upon my departure to Dubai, she wrote to me, “There are some people that come and go from a room- from a life- and no one seems to notice one way or another, but not you! Everyone knows when you are present, and there is a black hole when you are gone.”

And as I reflect on her life, on what would have been her 56^th birthday, the only phrase that seems adequate is this, “Ditto, Birthday Girl, ditto!”

Photo Courtesy of Warmowki Photography