I was born...

Tomorrow is my birthday.  I'll be 29.  I've had lots of good birthdays, many parties with pizza and friends, many sweet gifts from my parents, husband, and family. 

But, the birthday I remember most was my fourth (at least, I think it was my fourth...that was a long time ago).

My mom and dad were travelling for a few days to another city where my dad was having some health tests.  My younger sister and I were spending that time with Grandma Amy and Grandpa Herb.  Grandma Amy felt bad for me because Mom and Dad were missing my birthday.  She knew a little bit about that.  On the day I was born (to her youngest daughter, a couple weeks early, by emergency c-section, giving my mom lots of health problems), Grandma Amy was out of town with Grandpa Herb who was having surgery on his foot.  I think she always felt a little bad about missing it. But she didn't miss anything after that.

For my fourth birthday I wanted, very badly, for my parents to be there and my dad to be well.  But, my second-best wish was for a round cake with chocolate frosting and blue candles.  I had seen round cakes in pictures and on TV and they were beautiful. 

And, so, that birthday, Grandma made me the perfect round cake with dark, chocolate frosting and blue candles.  I sat in Grandma's chair at the kitchen table and blew out the candles with my sister and Grandpa and Grandma.

I wish I could have that cake again.  I wish that I could look at my grandma with the awesome wonder of a four-year-old whose wish had come true.  But, you know, life happens and we're only four-years-old for one year.

After almost 92 years, my grandma lived her life through and she died on February 6, 2015.  If one picture, one peak at a memory, is worth 1,000 words, I can't imagine capturing almost 92 years of pictures.  

Today, I think back to my fourth birthday.  And I cry because I love my Grandma and she loved me so much and I miss her.  (Yes, I, a cold-hearted Scandinavian-Midwestern-American, cry.)  I hope that everyone has a birthday like that. I hope you all get to celebrate being born with someone who cares enough to make you a round cake with chocolate frosting and blue candles.

For a glimpse at what almost 92 years of memories looks like (in far less than 1,000 words written by someone who has only almost 29 years) here is this poem which was written for Grandma's funeral a few weeks ago:

Amy’s Poem—March 28, 1923- February 6, 2015

I was born and they said, “She won’t live,”

            -her arm is crippled, she’s weak and she’s small.

But I, I would show them: my life was not their call.

I would grow and learn, I would work and write

            I would live life.

I would love—through many of life’s throws

            my parents and dear sister, and a farm boy with dirt on his toes.

I would teach you, my children, to walk and to run

            to learn every day and to always have fun.

I would knock heads together and indeed raise some hell

            if you or your friend or even a stranger were not treated well.

I would hold you, my grandchildren, and sing, “go to sleep,”

            bandage your wounds, sneak you cookies and treats.

I would weave thread and yarn in blankets and clothes

            for you, my beloved, to always feel close.

I would share every thought—ever deep, often smart

            to engage you and change you and open your hearts.

I was born.

And they said, “She won’t live,”

            -her arm is crippled, she’s weak and she’s small.

But I, I would show them—and you, too—my life was not their call.

Because, before I was your friend, sister, grandma and mom,

I was born, fearfully and wonderfully made,

            created in the image of God.

©2015 Katherine J. Chullino (poem and blog)