The "Happy Birthday" Song

Every year for our birthdays, no matter how old we were, my mother would call and sing the entire "Happy Birthday" song to my brothers and I, and we would have to suffer through listening to it. If I didn’t answer the phone, she would sing it to the answering machine. There was a time I thought, "OK, enough already - I'm too old for this." In fact, I was too old after the age of 5. But it's funny how that seemingly insignificant and silly song, keeps playing over and over in my head, as I desperately wish I could hear her sing it again. The last time I saw my mom, she didn’t even know who I was, much less remembered my birthday. The woman who gave birth and raised me, became a stranger to her only daughter. I remember hearing old people say that time is so fleeting and to treasure every moment you have before it’s too late. Unfortunately, I learned this to be true.

My mom loved to sing for every situation: arriving, leaving, birthdays, Hannukah, Christmas -- absolutely everything. If there wasn't a song for it, she made one up. She didn’t have a singing voice, but she didn’t care. I think looking back on it now, my mom did exactly what she wanted to do when she wanted to do it, as long as it didn’t hurt anyone else. In some ways, she lived in an imaginary bubble, that protected her from reality, ever since she was a child. She rarely spoke about her childhood, but from what I've gathered through the years, it wasn't idyllic. 

I didn't have an idyllic childhood either, but I had two parents who loved and raised me the best they knew how. Even though my father was an angry, intolerant man, he taught me principles that were invaluable when I was raising my children. And even though my mother was the queen of passive-aggressiveness, she taught me how to be a kind person, even to those who may not deserve it. Neither one of them had any idea how they influenced me, and I regret to this day I never told them. 

So I woke up at 4:30 this morning to my grandson babbling away and telling me "Gamma, I wuv you." I said, "Bubba, I love you too, but it's 4:30 in the morning. Go back to sleep." But of course, he didn't. He was ready to rule the day, so we got up and watched his favorite movie, "Dumbo." The child is infatuated with elephants. He loves them. And as we sat watching this for the 100th time, I realized it was my birthday today, and tears suddenly started running down my face. No singing birthday gram from my mom. No short, obligatory conversation with my dad, when she would yell, "Bob, Sis is on the phone." Those simple, common occurrences are lost now through time, but they remain a part of who I am - who I've become.

So, today I am 64 and I wonder how I got to be this old. Time is fleeting, just like they said. It just keeps going on and on, without pausing or taking a break, like the choo choo train on "Dumbo," that Wesley loves. And one day, you look in the mirror and you don't really recognize the person looking back at you. I mean, there's a similarity, but the person in the mirror is not who you remember you look like. It's a strange feeling. It's like my mom looking at me quite puzzled: I looked familiar, but she couldn't place my face.

So in memory of my mother, I sang the "Happy Birthday" song to myself, although it made me cry. It's the little things. It's not the big things you remember. It's the little things. No matter how old you get, no matter how far down the road you travel, it's the little things you miss...