As a strictly chronological account, Saturday was not whimsical. There were the logistics of making sure everything was gathered up and brought, there was the fact that mother forgot to tell me what time we were heading out in the morning and so I was rushed to gather my belongings for the day, there was my over-tasked father who Anna kept tabs on throughout the night (“your father looks like he needs a hug!” she exclaimed a few times throughout the party) and there were the complex logistics of creating a collaborative birthday gift with my mom’s guest secretively throughout the day.
But I don’t want to talk about the step by step. Because the day wasn’t about me or the gears making it happen. The meaning was in the moments like when my mom exclaimed, watery-eyed at 10am before her first workshop: “I feel so full [of emotion/beauty/joy] and nothing has even happened yet!” Or when introductions to her prayer circle participants were made and the vast webbing of the depth and variety of her connections was revealed. It was in the hour of musical expression led by Lori and the moments we looked over at one another when Carrie Newcomer or Leonard Cohen came on, reveling in the legacy of their lyrics in our family lives. And while I took the opportunity during Tai Chi to work on my gift, I can only imagine the swelling of her soul in sharing her passion and blessing of that practice with friends and family that were new to it. The last activity of the day (before shifting into party mode) was a sharing of a collage that guests had contributed to throughout the event. The board was clad in imagery of light, growth of flowers and trees and gatherings of animals engaged in compassionate gatherings with their kin. Guests shared how these images expressed the wishes for her life and the gifts she already embodied.  |
| The set-up |
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| My dad's clever last minute surprise walking birthday card |
Before dinner was served, I asked to make an announcement and my mother did her best to brace herself, to no avail. The tears came as I revealed our group project. I’d taken a liking to paper bead-making and had pre-cut strips for guests to write blessings or prayers on to be wrapped up as a necklace; a symbolic totem similar to a Buddhist Prayer Wheel. We delighted in dinner, catered by an incredibly sweet new business owner (Diana’s self-proclaimed new boyfriend) who made the most creative salad I’ve ever eaten, a pumpkin coconut soup, roasted root veggies and cod seasoned with cumin, capers and olives. Then, between dinner and dessert, I insisted in another crying fest when I sang my parody to “50 ways to leave your lover” (“60 reasons I love Mother”).
While most people were quite fulfilled with the long day and began to gather up to go after dessert, a handful of us enjoyed the 60-centric dance playlist that my brother had diligently put together. Anna and I were called to lead the Macarena (which we cut short after 3.5 minutes of the damn thing) and the Cha Cha Slide. As we cleaned up, we sang along to the rest of the music.
While the night was showered in celebration, the occasion carried heavy symbolism. Sixty is a big number. In a clock, it is the end of a minute or an hour. Mirroring the clock, Chinese and Western Astrological systems also take a cyclical, circle form. In these systems, 60 represents the ending of a cycle period, a coming-full-circle of sorts. My mother is a beautiful, healthy spirit, youthful in so many ways. And yet, this event marked, i think, a section of completion for her. In this room, in this cycle of a day, was a snapshot of her 60 years. Childhood friends, children, spouse, co-workers, new friends all in one place to show what these 60 years have brought to her life. The image that it painted was beautiful. And it felt complete. The growth doesn’t stop here. In a way, it elevates. It goes inward, to the core, where a calm, quiet growth occurs. It’s like saying “my life is in balance. I can focus here, within now.”
As her daughter, still in the throes of mid 20’s, I cannot articulate what this feels like to her. I still don’t know what it feels like to me, exactly. But I know as a guide to this cycle ahead and how to view it with grace amidst the mistakes and rusty edges, I could not have asked for a better one in my life.
I am not very good at connecting to what hasn’t happened. I cannot conceptualize the gravity of aging - time moves too fast for my heart - but I can connect to love and reconnect to love in every moment. And that is my ultimate gift to you, mother. I will continue to love you deeply, every moment I can. And that will never age.
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