Debby Does…

I used to love my birthday. I loved the attention, the cake, the pink wrapping paper covering something special, and, as an adult, my mom’s lobster salad and a porch sit. I planned big outings with friends and looked forward to being celebrated just for existing! My birthday was an occasion.

As a kid, I knew it was a financial stretch for my mom to host a party and buy presents. She was a single mom on a 1970s teacher’s salary. My grandparents helped, but my mom was the singular joy in my birthday celebrations. Even the year that my grandparents brought a pony for all of my friends to ride, it was the perfect bows on packages, the devils food cake with buttercream frosting, and the love and attention that my mom paid to that day when she gave birth to her only child. She loved me with a love so deep and true that it makes me cry just typing those words. She was there on the very first day of my life and no one else could claim that.

In the past few years, I just wanted to ignore my birthday. Dementia had made my mom angry and mean, especially towards me. She told a friend she didn’t want to celebrate my birthday because I didn’t deserve it. Then, she simply forgot that I had a birthday. I’m not sure which was worse. As many times as you tell yourself that was the disease talking, it’s still heartbreaking. I just wanted the real Judy for my birthday.

Since I lost her in 2021, I have been bitter and crabby about my birthday, rejecting most offers to celebrate or even acknowledge it. I don’t do birthdays anymore.

No Judy. No Birthday.

This year, I approached the day with trepidation. Mother’s Day and my birthday fell within the same week and I didn’t have high hopes. The week leading up to May 18th was a busy one—appointments, workouts, community events, a concert, and an audition. I balked at each one, wanting to hide and see no one. Still, I honored every commitment and felt better for having seen them through. Even that nerve wracking audition made me feel stronger and more like Debby.

I left my day completely without plans, without expectations, and without traditions. From buttered toast, which never disappoints, to a spontaneous Mexican lunch al fresco, my day was sublime. I spent every minute with my husband, Jim, who is a truly divine man. He let me drive the day, humoring me, celebrating me, and loving me in his gentle, funny, sweet way. Instead of bucking against the day like an angry bull (I mean, I am a Taurus), I gave into to its presence and just let myself be. I even let someone else make the cake (maybe the only mistake of the day).

No deep thoughts, no revelations, no grief stricken tributes, just a day to be enjoyed.

And I did. I enjoyed my birthday. I hope I get to enjoy many more.

But, next year, I’m making the cake. Judy’s recipe, with my twist.

Let’s make this go ’round the sun a good one, 55!