Happy Birthday

This story contains content about death, illness, and substance abuse.

“Lauren, we have to talk about… something.” Terri’s thin form was all but swallowed up by the pillows, a husk of the woman she used to be. The rented hospital bed took over Lauren’s normally neat living room. By the look of her mom, this bed wouldn’t be necessary for much longer. 

Lauren let off watering her spider plant. Her mom’s serious tone didn’t bode well. “What is it, mom?”

“It’s about your father, the day he…” the woman before her struggled for words.

“It’s okay, mom. That was a long time ago.” Lauren knew she’d bring up the birthday, had been dreading it for months. Her dead-beat dad had chosen his favorite beverage over her again and had died. Happy birthday. Now her mom wanted to scrape open the scar. 

“Becket lost his tooth last night. Doesn’t think $2.00 is enough. Can you believe it. That’s inflation for you.”

A skeletal hand touched Lauren’s arm as she reached across to give her pathos a drink on the sill next to the bed.

“It’s not what you think.” Her mom tried to sit up, failing, and falling back with a sigh. “I’ve debated a long time how much to tell you.”

The familiar pain Lauren had wrestled with the last twenty years twisted her guts again. Not now, mom. We’ve avoided talking about this long, let it die with you. She didn’t say these things, didn’t have the heart to. Her mom pressed on.

“Go look in the dresser, the top shelf. I have something that belongs to you.” 

Lauren squeezed her mom’s hand. “I’ll get it, mom. You rest, now.” 

Terri closed her eyes, her breathe rattling through her lungs as the drip of morphine worked its magic. 

She did not go to the top drawer of the dresser. She did not want to see what belonged to her in relation to that day. Instead, she finished watering her plants, organized the yarn in her craft room, made coffee, and picked at the 3,000 piece puzzle by her mom’s bed, every so often pausing to count the seconds between breathes. 

Then the time came to get Becket, but just as she was grabbing her purse, her mom stirred. 

“Lauren?” 

Lauren paused in front of the door, debating whether to pretend she didn’t hear.

“I’m going to pick up Becket, I don’t want to be late.” The door thudded behind her louder than she meant.

“It’s a Wonderful Life” played in the background while Lauren and Becket ate at TV trays in the living room. Lauren avoided her mom’s searching eyes. If her mom wanted to talk about anything else, it would be okay. They hadn’t talked about the incident all this time, why bring it up now? 

Her dad had spent years before his death in a slow decline. Disappearing more and more from their lives, vanishing behind the bottle. So he chose to go out on her tenth birthday and get himself killed? What was that to her? He probably wasn’t even with it enough to realize it was her birthday. Ugh, but why was she thinking about this. She’d done well enough to put it all out of her mind. Learned to dismiss it, think of other things, get involved. At least she actually lived her life. Her dad just floated into oblivion. Her mom sinking deeper into her own despair, a cage she created for herself out of fear and grief. But, again, twenty years ago. Let sleeping ghosts lie.

Lauren scraped fork to plate only to realize her tuna casserole was gone. She’d eaten it. She glanced around and asked, “Are you sure you don’t want anything, mom? There’s one more chocolate pudding.”

Her mom made a face. She hadn’t eaten since picking at toast yesterday morning, and only sucked on a few meager ice chips. 

Becket knew what was happening to his grandma. It had taken some time but he’d come to terms, or so it seemed. Lauren feared for the next few days. The image of waking up one morning to find Terri gone and explaining it to him. The reality of it in their living room. Her absence. It would happen soon. How would he take it? How would she take it? Both parents gone.

That night, after Becket was in bed, Lauren went through the house, locking the doors, turning out the lights. She paused at her mom’s bed, expecting her to be asleep, but her glossy eyes shone in the lamplight. A wildness in them struck Lauren and she took half a step back, then covered by sinking into the fold-up chair next to the bed. 

“How you feeling mom? Your hands are so cold. Can I get you another blanket? Here, I’ll be right back.”

Like talons, her mom didn’t let go of her wrist.

“Please don’t let me die without telling you the whole truth,” she said. Desperation tore at her gaunt features, pleading with Lauren.

Lauren scrunched her eyes shut, filling her lungs with slow, intentional air. She didn’t want to go into this right now.

“I’m tired, mom. Can it wait until the morning?”

Realizing what she said plunged Lauren into guilt. Of course she couldn’t wait until morning, there may not be a morning for her mom.

“Okay, mom. Tonight.”

“Top right drawer.” Her mom called after her.

The spare room in which her mom had been living for the last several months smelled like Jergins lotion and lavender—like her mom. 

Lauren switched on the light and stared down the dresser across the room. Simple and modern, an unassuming piece of furniture, nothing she’d expect to hold any sort of deep dark secret. And yet she couldn’t drag herself over to it.

She considered pretending she couldn’t find whatever was in there, turning and leaving now. Her mom could tell her secret and she could put it all behind her… again. 

But, clearly, this was important. 

Lauren shuffled across the room and slid open the drawer. 

Trinkets and knick-knacks filled the drawer. Lauren shuffled through an antique hair brush, an old photo of Terri and her siblings, grandpa’s pocket watch, so much stuff. Which of these did her mom mean for her to find. 

Her fingers fell on a bit of leather, she pulled it out, free of the rest. A dog collar. How strange. They’d never had a dog growing up. She flipped over the small metal tag and read: KIPPER.

Her mouth went dry. 

Trembling she carried the collar back.

“Mom, what’s this?” she asked, the thing electric in her palm.

“You found it.” The thin lips twitched. 

“What is this?” Lauren cleared her throat. “We never had a dog.”

“I debated for a long time whether I should tell you or not.”

“Tell me what?” 

“Your dad… left much to be desired. He was gone a lot. He missed a lot.” She closed her eyes and Lauren thought for a moment she’d fall asleep. But they slid open again, and she continued. “He made poor choices. But. He never stopped loving you.” 

Tears stung Lauren’s eyes. She brushed them away. She thought she was done with tears.

“What’s this?” she asked again, holding up the collar.

“Your dad knew you loved watching that show of yours--Kipper the Dog. He knew. He knew you wanted a dog. He knew how badly you wanted one, though he never let on.”

Lauren gripped the leash, sensing where the story was going.

“He wasn’t at the bar that day?”

Her mom’s head shook a fraction of an inch.

“He hated the father he’d become. You deserved better. He wanted to be better. He was going to surprise you that day. He wanted it to come from him. He wasn’t a bad man, he just made bad choices.”

Her January birthday was often cold and gray, her tenth was no different. After school she and her mom shared a lasagna dinner. Her dad wasn’t there. Afterwards they had cupcakes with purple frosting. Her dad wasn’t there. Her mom gave her gifts. So many gifts. Her dad wasn’t there. Then they got the call. 

He had been in an accident. Slid off the road into a street light. Died instantly.

Lauren’s tears streamed down her cheeks. She’’d always thought he’d been gone drinking. That’s where he usually was when he wasn’t home. But, he was getting her a gift? A puppy. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? Oh, why didn’t you tell me? I’ve been angry at him for so many years—“ sobs wracked her, emptying her, like anger pouring through a sieve. All that hatred she’d felt towards her dad, how much he’d missed, how cold he’d been. It had been like living with a ghost. But he loved her. He was sorry. 

And he died… getting her a puppy. She struggled to justify the image she had made of him with the things her mom was telling her. The collar in her hand proving it.

When the tears had run themselves dry, Lauren sat, numb, staring at the name in her lap. What would it have been like if he’d survived? It could have been a turning point. Maybe he would have stopped drinking. Maybe she would have gotten her dad back. But how many times had he made that promise and failed to follow through? But this could have been it. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked again, a stab of betrayal twisting inside.

Now it was her mom’s turn to cry. Those, dry, withered eyes eked out drips which glistened on her cheek bones.

“I’m so sorry. I see now I should have told you much sooner. I was afraid. I knew you were angry with your dad. But I was afraid you’d blame yourself for his death. Blame yourself that he died doing something for you. I didn’t know what to do.”

“You didn’t know what to do?” Lauren caught herself and lowered her voice. “I wouldn’t have spent the last 20 years hating him. Not like I did.”

More tears. “I know.” Her mom said. “I know.”

Lauren stared at the feeble figure before her, new rage and emptiness and grief roaring inside. She’d carried this burden towards one parent for the last twenty years. She wouldn’t do it again. She couldn’t.

She sank back into the chair. She thought of her own son asleep just down the hall. What would she have done? Could she have told him something like that—that his dad died getting him a special birthday present? And suddenly it made sense. Being a parent was hard. It wasn’t cut-and-dry. It was a constant battle to do the best for your kid and nobody was perfect. Not even her. Boy, did she know that. 

“Lauren?” Her name, a tentative tendril of hope and fear. 

“I’m here, mom. I’m here.”

Silence filled the room, speaking volumes. Each woman contemplating the past, the what-ifs, the could-have-beens. 

“Thank you,” Lauren said after an eternity. “Thanks for telling me.”