As you no doubt know (due to the worldwide celebration), my birthday was a couple of days ago. Please, hold your applause. On second thought, let's have an ovation...for my mom. My wont to procrastinate was forged in the womb and I simply could not be bothered to make the long journey down the birth canal. With all the food and sleep I could possibly want I saw no reason to leave, and consequently wound up overstaying my welcome. In our modern culture where women want to be induced as soon as they can't fit into their skinny jeans it's hard to imagine that my mom's doctor let me linger in my gelatinous nirvana for days past my due date. 17 days, to be exact. Carrying all 9 pounds, 6 ounces of me around in the sweltering heat while tending to my not yet 3-year old sister and my 14-month old brother couldn't have been a highlight of the pregnancy. So bravo, Mom! I should give you gifts on August 1st for not ditching me at the hospital after all I put you through.
I always spend some time reflecting on my life on my birthday and as I age I also spend some time calculating how many more of them I'm likely to have. It's ludicrous, really. I know all too well that life doesn't much care about actuarial tables. After losing my brother when he was 36, grieving with family over babies we never got to meet and watching friends say goodbye to people they love way too soon I know that there is no guarantee of reaching tomorrow, much less the year 2054. I can make choices to try to keep The Reaper (no, not you Tom) at bay as long as possible. But there's nothing saying I won't be struck by lightning next week or killed in a stampede of resentful elementary school students on the first day of school.
Knowing that the end of my life could come at any time has given me reason to make some decisions. The will has been written and the executor chosen. I would have made a list of who gets my possessions but I've made it my life's work to rid myself of much of the "stuff" that clutters our home. If there's something you've had your eye on, I suggest you get down to Goodwill as soon as possible. I've designated guardians for my kids in case Troy and I go at the same time. I've worked hard the past 12 years to cultivate the illusion that the boys aren't batshit crazy so my sister and her husband won't refuse the "honor" of raising them. The dog is still up for grabs though; there's some crazy you just can't hide.
I know that when I die I want a two-part funeral. First, a somber and emotional affair where you will be expected to cry your face off. Tell everyone that you don't know if you can go on without me and talk me up like I was a cross between Mother Teresa, Stephen Hawking, Kristin Chenoweth and Megan Fox. Drink copiously to dull the pain. Second, a dance party! Hook my iPod to some speakers, skip past all the Sade, and get down with your bad self. Swap spit with a stranger. Remember that one time when we did that one thing that made us laugh till we vomited. Drink copiously to dull the pain. Please don't move on to part two until everyone is done with part one. There's nothing festive about being mid-dance and slipping in a pool of tears and mucus.
There will be no graveside service because there will be no grave. I cannot bear the thought of being buried. Coincidentally, cremation doesn't appeal either, which leaves me with slim options. What I'd really like is for my body to be laid out in the forest somewhere and become an unexpected buffet for the woodland creatures. Seriously. But unless I die in an avalanche or while on the run from the Snow White huntsman this seems unlikely. So what I intend to do is donate my body to a university for use either by medical or forensic students. No one really wants it now, but once it's dead I expect a lot of interest. Plus, I've watched countless episodes of 'CSI' over the years so I totally know all the ins and outs of laying still and being carved up. I'll have to be buried or cremated eventually, but by then there will be no danger that I'm just sleeping really deeply.
Generally, I think life is pretty swell and I'm not in any hurry to leave it. While I'm here I donate blood, give fantastic hugs, make people laugh, read to my kids, bake nummy stuff for family, and listen to people I love for as long as they need. I can also be a raving, selfish, tactless, emotionally immature bitch. I hope when I get to the end of the road the good I've done will far outweigh the bad. Not because I have any expectation of an afterlife I have to earn (that's a whole other blog) but because no matter how many birthdays I have, I consider each one a precious gift, to be cherished and used wisely.
