the sweetest thing.

my mother turned 50 years old yesterday. the usual markers of another year lived felt uncomfortably different than previous june 22nds. no one in the family dared to ask aloud about the strange brew of cake and quiet, well-wishing cards and concerned phone calls, gifts and more quiet. both my sister and i had to work during the day and when our shifts wrapped up, rather than choosing a treated dinner out or a cooked meal in, mom just asked for an ordered pizza. my sister and i made sure she got what she wanted but i think we both felt somewhat disappointed with the melancholy sitting above our cheesy plates and heads.

after the food was consumed and the dishes were washed mom and i drove to the hospital to visit dad for the usual evening visit (mom tends to visit him once or twice during the day as well). earlier that day, i spent my lunch break at the hospital with dad. we caught up on the weekend's events (i had been in fredericton, he had lots of family visitors) and we had our own small celebration of father's day. dad looked pretty clean and bright - his hair was cut (finally!), he'd been in-and-out of bed a handful of times over the past few hours and he'd been sleeping fairly well over the weekend - but i felt incredibly sad as i said good-bye to him. dad's five-month stay in the icu smashed me in the face as i recognized how many events have been celebrated with tubes and monitors present. first, mom and dad's 29th anniversary. then, valentine's day. family and friends-of-family birthday came and went. both kelly and i spent our reading weeks studying in the dim waiting room. there was dad's 50th birthday, there was easter and there was graduation day. there was mother's day, father's day and then, finally, my mother's birthday. on top of all of these events normally defined as "special", there'd been so many other celebratory days: dad's first surgery, his survival through the various others, dad's efforts in physio, his successful heart transplant. now, we celebrate dad's "first steps" and the respirator being removed from his room. so much has passed and all the while we continue to change and learn ways to celebrate those parts of life previously living in the realm of unfamiliarity. i left the room quickly and grabbed my coat from the waiting room.

when i emerged from the waiting room i tried to flee from the reception desk with a brief "see you later" so that i could run and re-collect in peace. the receptionist, now practically an adopted member to our family, caught my eye before i turned to run and asked, "jenna, are you okay?" naturally i lose my composure, crack in half and nod to say "yes" as i cry into my hands. this woman jumped around her desk to hug me. when i finally managed to find my voice i found myself trying to explain my tears with, "today is mom's birthday". the woman, who has seen countless of the aforementioned new sorts of celebrations of life and health, somehow made sense of my short answer. she held on, nodded and seemed to get what my mouth wasn't saying: this is real and it's been real for a while.

after the snot and tears ceased to fall from my face, the receptionist and i had a quick chat about mom's birthday, about how this was her 50th one for celebrating and about how the plans of a movie night with dad would be the best way to really celebrate until further notice. as we were chatting, a nurse from the ward stopped by to say hello. she picked up on the birthday talk, gave me a wink and ran off.

back to the post-pizza drive to the hospital; mom and i arrived later than usual and caught the same winking nurse on our way into the hospital. she offered mom her celebratory greetings and after a short talk we were back on our way to dad's room. upon arrival, the receptionist barred mom and i off from the unit and said, "you can't go in just yet...he's using the...bathroom." mom, nosy as she is, peeked into the unit enough to see that the curtain of dad's room was not closed, meaning he certainly was not visibly busy. regardless, we weren't permitted to enter until someone gave us the "okay", so we sat in silence, worrying about what might be going on.

after five minutes or so, the receptionist slipped into our room and informed us that dad was now ready for visitors. we were discussing possible issues dad might have been having as we entered the unit. we turned the corner from the nurses' station in order to reach dad's room and stopped and stared for a good five seconds before either of us could make any noise. the door of dad's room had been covered with bright, red signs that screamed, "HAPPY 50th BIRTHDAY!". gloves had been blown up with air and tied at the end to make balloons bearing my mother's name. scantily-clad magazine ladies were taped around mom's red, white and latex birthday homage. after our initial surprise started to fade, mom and i were in tear-stained stitches upon entering dad's room. once inside, a handful of nurses surrounded mom and clapped their way through the "happy birthday" song. again, there were tears, there was laughing and dad was positively beaming.

as soon as the nurses left the room, dad pulled an envelope out from beneath his blankets. on the envelope was mom's name in familiar-but-scribbly penmanship. mom opened the card, we read it together, and it was signed with dad's name, an "i love you" and some xo's to boot. clearly one of the nurses thought to find a card for dad to present to mom. clearly the entire unit must be a little wacky and maybe they've known us for too long...but after mom stopped crying and settled into the chair next to dad, i think some of the looming strangeness of the day took off.

plenty of small symbols (and large acts) of kindness happen all of the time and our familiy is lucky enough to witness many of them. with the combination yesterday of familiar and unfamiliar elements - a familiar act of kindness performed by an unfamiliar group of people -completely flipped my mother's day around for the better. and, judging by dad's grin, i am certain that he was feeling pretty groovy about having signed off a card for his pretty lady. it was the sweetest thing that's ever come from me crying in front of a receptionist. it was one of the sweetest moments i'd ever witnessed. i had to share.