On celebrating nanny’s 95th birthday
no collar required
What is a good life?
What does it mean to be living well?
Well, dear reader, I witnessed a great example of this just this weekend.
It was my Nanny’s 95th birthday party at her new place.
Her children were there.
Most of her grandchildren and great grandchildren were there as well.
People kept coming into the party room in waves.
With each successive wave, Nanny cried a bit more.
Her sister.
Her best friend.
Her best friend’s children who think of her as their second mother.
Wave after wave of tears came cascading down Nanny’s face.
I was worried that the salt water might have caused some erosion.
A few more lines might have been drawn across that ancient, wise face.
When I arrived she cried as well.
This is a first. It was puzzling.
I had to ask, What the hell is wrong with you?
She laughed through her tears.
I’m not crying because I’m sad. I’m crying because I’m happy.
I shook my head. Knock it off. If you keep this up, you’ll be dehydrated in a matter of minutes. If people keep coming, you’ll be nothing but dust within the hour.
This time it was Nanny’s turn to shake her head.
We ate cake and sang songs.
Some lady with a funny collar added something to the birthday song about the baby Jebus.
Who the hell is the lady with the funny collar?
Apparently it was the ‘minister’. And that title gives one permission to add baby Jebus to the birthday song.
It seemed weird.
But that, dear reader was a digression.
And?
The lady with a collar, she wasn’t important.
Nanny was.
We ate cake and gave her hugs.
Lots of hugs.
Big ones.
Long ones.
She just kept crying.
I’m so happy.
I’m so lucky to be so loved.
Nanny’s old now.
She’s 95.
I can’t have much longer left.
She says this a lot.
Though I didn’t hear her say that at her birthday party.
So what makes a good life, dear reader?
Perhaps it’s having a lot of birthdays.
But what’s a birthday when you’re 95 without having a bunch of your children, grandchildren and great grandchildren around to help you celebrate it?
I’m struck with one odd thought.
If I live to be 95 and have that many people around celebrating me, it will be great to be there.
Though I’ll likely crack jokes about it being a funeral pre-party.
Kinda like drinking before going out to the bar to get a little pre-tipsy before the real debauchery begins.
But instead of drunken whooping, it’s a bunch of family members and a lady with a collar trying to sneak a Jebus song in between mouthfuls of tuna sandwiches.
So what makes a good life dear reader?
A good life is made up moment to moment knowing that life is worth living.
And life is worth living when you know just how many people love you and just how much you’re loved.
My Nanny?
She has a great life.
Though she hasn’t bungee jumped into huge canyons, nor spent time on the back of an elephant in Thailand, hers has been rich and exotic.
And though some say they’re living their best life as they jet around the world dancing on surfboards wearing t-shirts that say salty hair don’t care, they will never know the love that Nanny knows.
Because Nanny knows about salt air and spruce trees and the fog that dances on still summer mornings in Lake Charlotte.
Most of all though?
She knows the salty taste of the tears of joy - the kind you get when it finally lands. You’re loved. Deeply.
Stay salty, you fools!