“Those who love deeply
never grow old; they may die of old age, but they die young.” - A.W.
Pinero
ACT
I – August 16, 1959
“What was it like
the day you were born?” Mama
asked, making sure she had heard the question correctly, then answering
immediately as if it was yesterday, not 47 years ago today: “It was a pretty Saturday and I had been busy
all day - of course, your brother, Mickey, was not quite 2 - and I remember I
had cooked a good supper - fresh green beans and other fresh vegetables. Daddy
had been telling me for 9 months to please not go into labor on a Saturday -
you know that was his hardest and longest day in the barbershop.
We got through supper and I think it was about 8:00 when I started having
pains. Now, I really didn't know what to expect because labor had been
induced with Mick and it was long and hard. But, then I got sick on my
stomach, so Daddy and I were suspicious. Daddy called Dr. Lang about 10:00 and he told him to take me to the
hospital. Mick was in bed and Daddy called PaPa to come stay with
him. We got to the hospital about 10:30 and the nurse called Dr. Lang. I
remember that when he told me they were taking me to delivery, I said ‘oh, no,
my pain isn't that bad.’ He said ‘it's time.’ And you were born about 11:30, so
you were kind and didn't give me a long labor. Daddy, of course, got to
see you after you were born and see that both of us were o.k. so then he headed
home and when he got there and told PaPa we had a little girl, PaPa didn't
believe you could already be here. We were thrilled to have a baby
daughter. Just what we wanted, Daddy said. You were a little over 6
pounds as was Mick. We didn't have big babies back then. I
don't remember why we picked your name, Patricia, but, of course, you were Patti right
away. Maybe we saw it somewhere and liked it.”
ACT
II – August 16, 1992
Life got lived.
All kinds of stuff happened. Little Patti Baby grew up and got ready to have a
baby of her own.
“What was it like, waiting for Emma to be born?” my
friend Rosemary asked, making sure she had heard the question correctly, then answering
immediately as if it was yesterday, not 14 years ago.“A
phone call in a little office cubicle. Pale light coming in over someone
else's wall.Your voice, tiny and tired. Emerging slowly was a very compelling,
undeniable truth: affirmation of life. Unbelievable
opportunity--this gift. I was so excited for you I couldn't think. I was
so nervous I couldn't focus. Calm the brain so the words would form in
language. Affirm life. Grab this chance to love someone so unconditionally, so
fully, so beautifully. What a blessing. What a pleasure. This,
my dear, is what it is all about......”
“What was it like, waiting for Emma to be born?” my
husband John asked, making sure he had heard the question correctly, then
answering immediately as if it was yesterday, not 14 years ago. “Waiting for Emma to be born was like
waiting for the day to turn in the world: like waiting, for one day, waiting for the day to be born, watching the
world turn with my eye on the ground in the desert waiting for the earth to
move, which it never did. And then
watching the world move from space, from 10,000 miles away, watching the whole
thing move quickly, silently, beneath me, like water in a deep narrow stream.
Sometimes the world moved quickly while I watched and waited; sometimes the unmoving
world watched me. It was like an entire prebirth life of Emma-to-be, waiting
for her to be born; sometimes a month
happened in a day; sometimes the day lived in a month; and sometimes time
didn’t happen at all. Through it all,
Patti grew more beautiful and more powerful with each sunrise. But that’s another story.”
“What was it like, waiting for Emma to be born?” I
pondered myself. “Well, your Daddy would cook
for me and then send the food by courier in a paper grocery bag from one side of
Washington, D.C. to the other, just to make sure I was eating lunch. He made
asparagus and broccoli ice cream to try to pump some nutrients into me. But we
won’t talk about that experiment. Let’s not speak of that vegetable ice cream again,
shall we? It was the most magical time of my life—that’s it. I was the most
sure, the most strong, the most human I had ever been—eating Ethiopian food
every night followed by Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey and then at 6 am on the morning of my birthday, I
knew you were coming. I stood for hours in front of the bathroom mirror looking
straight ahead at my face as if in a trance, rubbing my big belly and quietly willing
myself through labor pains until I knew we needed to go. I realized after we
got to the hospital that we had forgotten to call Gay to say we wouldn’t be
there for the birthday dinner party she had planned for me. And then you came
into the world and I knew in an instant what love was, the kind of love where
you fling your heart into the sky and feel it fly out from under you, the kind
where you know it might be broken sometime because it is so full, but it will
be okay. You had the most perfect skin, like you glowed from the inside out. I
used to want to eat you up, I loved you so much. Still do.”
“What was it like, the day Emma was born?” my
friend Gay asked, answering immediately, as if it was yesterday, not 14 years
ago today. “It was August
and it was hot and the window air-conditioners weren't doing a great job of
cooling off the kitchen, mostly because we had the oven on for the yeast rolls
and the requisite vegetarian casserole for Patti's birthday. And there was
cake, of course. We were worried that it might be too hot for her; she was, as
she would admit, HUGE. We have a picture of her way before this evening,
dressed in a polka dot maternity dress, looking pretty doggone large months
before. Jack, from downstairs, was bringing appetizers and was late. I went out
on the balcony to get some air, and heard the doors to the downstairs garage
open. I knew immediately what that meant. I looked down and there was John,
pushing Patti into the very high-off-the-ground truck that would take her to
the hospital. It was indeed a birthday, but at that point
Patti's celebration and my ruined dinner party didn't seem nearly as
important as being able to soon meet the amazing wonderful being who arrived
that night. Happy Birthday, Emma.”
“What was it like the morning of your birthday when
John called?” Mama asked. “He asked what I
was doing 33 years earlier that day. And I was in labor with you, of course!
And then I figured it out—Emma was going to be born on your birthday! And we
started up there - both of us so excited. We stopped at a Cracker Barrel
to eat supper and I called John from there - you had just had Emma about 7:30. When I got back to the
table, the waitress brought our food and I said I can't eat but, of course, I
did and we hurried on. We got there about ll:30 and, luckily, met a nurse
coming out of the locked door and she unlocked it and told us where to
go. The nurses didn't question us showing up at that time of night - I
don't guess they could have kept us from seeing you three if they had tried.
We were so excited and you and John were exhausted.”
ACT III – August 16, 2006
That
luminous wonder baby, Emma, was my best birthday gift ever. Born on my 33rd
birthday, she turns 14 today and starts high school; I turn 47 today and
continue my education—she is my teacher, my dissertation advisor. Aside from
the tiny fact that she forgot my birthday one year (think about it—that’s hard
to do when it’s the same day as your own, isn’t it?) Emma is one of the wise humans,
a muse, my greatest teacher, the source of my very biggest laughs, the fulcrum
of my care and concern and passion in the world. (She’s also a teenager, so
there’s all that teenaged stuff that comes along with that phase but I’m sure
we’ll live through it and look back on it and laugh even if I’ve been
institutionalized by that point by the sheer terror of the idea of her driving
and dating and doing things that I did as a teenager. Not that I ever did
anything wrong, Mama, in case you’re reading this. I’m just saying…)
In
fourteen short years, Emma and I have eaten strawberries as big as our heads
together in Israel, seen plays in London together, waited on line at midnight
for Harry Potter books together, seen the beautiful Johnny Depp in “Pirates of
the Caribbean” at midnight on opening day together, slept on a (hard, cold,
hard and cold) floor at the Sea World in San Diego together so we could wake up
and watch manatees play, driven together in a red convertible to a Breyer horse
show where people are Way Crazy Serious About Plastic Horses, made movies that
made us snort with laughter in the local supermarket, sold fresh-squeezed
lemonade to raise money for abused horses, taken all-night train rides together
and pinky sworn never to do that again, ridden Ferris wheels in Chicago
rainstorms together, sang Johnny Cash tunes at the top of our lungs together in
the car, planned great things for the future together.
For our birthdays this year, I just want to
thank Emma for teaching me to stand on
my own rock, be
outraged by my own racism, question who gets to decide what normal is, acknowledge
my erasable
fears, and much, much, much more. Peanut, I love you with every ounce of
me. 37days is all for you, you know. And when you are nervous about going into high school for the first time
because you’re suddenly not sure where the stairs are and don't want to get out of the car right there because people are looking at you, I want to spare you from
it, but then I realize you’ll be fine, more than fine, and that at least part
of my job is opening my wings to allow you to step further onto the branch. Let me open the door for you--it'll still be open when you want to come back in. Thanks
for teaching me how to live and how to love in the way that only you could. Each of us makes the other possible.
Happy birthday to us!
“Those who love deeply
never grow old; they may die of old age, but they die young.” 
remember that when he told me they were taking me to delivery, I said ‘oh, no,
my pain isn't that bad.’ He said ‘it's time.’ And you were born about 11:30, so
you were kind and didn't give me a long labor. Daddy, of course, got to
see you after you were born and see that both of us were o.k. so then he headed
home and when he got there and told PaPa we had a little girl, PaPa didn't
believe you could already be here. We were thrilled to have a baby
daughter. Just what we wanted, Daddy said. You were a little over 6
pounds as was Mick. We didn't have big babies back then. I
don't remember why we picked your name, Patricia, but, of course, you were Patti right
away. Maybe we saw it somewhere and liked it.”
“What was it like, waiting for Emma to be born?” my
friend Rosemary asked, making sure she had heard the question correctly, then answering
immediately as if it was yesterday, not 14 years ago.“A
phone call in a little office cubicle. Pale light coming in over someone
else's wall.Your voice, tiny and tired. Emerging slowly was a very compelling,
undeniable truth: affirmation of life. Unbelievable
opportunity--this gift. I was so excited for you I couldn't think. I was
so nervous I couldn't focus. Calm the brain so the words would form in
language. Affirm life. Grab this chance to love someone so unconditionally, so
fully, so beautifully. What a blessing. What a pleasure. This,
my dear, is what it is all about......”
That
luminous wonder baby, Emma, was my best birthday gift ever. Born on my 33rd
birthday, she turns 14 today and starts high school; I turn 47 today and
continue my education—she is my teacher, my dissertation advisor. Aside from
the tiny fact that she forgot my birthday one year (think about it—that’s hard
to do when it’s the same day as your own, isn’t it?) Emma is one of the wise humans,
a muse, my greatest teacher, the source of my very biggest laughs, the fulcrum
of my care and concern and passion in the world. (She’s also a teenager, so
there’s all that teenaged stuff that comes along with that phase but I’m sure
we’ll live through it and look back on it and laugh even if I’ve been
institutionalized by that point by the sheer terror of the idea of her driving
and dating and doing things that I did as a teenager. Not that I ever did
anything wrong, Mama, in case you’re reading this. I’m just saying…)
For our birthdays this year, I just want to
thank Emma for teaching me to stand on
my own rock, be
outraged by my own racism, question who gets to decide what normal is, acknowledge
my erasable
fears, and much, much, much more. Peanut, I love you with every ounce of
me. 37days is all for you, you know. And when you are nervous about going into high school for the first time
because you’re suddenly not sure where the stairs are and don't want to get out of the car right there because people are looking at you, I want to spare you from
it, but then I realize you’ll be fine, more than fine, and that at least part
of my job is opening my wings to allow you to step further onto the branch. Let me open the door for you--it'll still be open when you want to come back in. Thanks
for teaching me how to live and how to love in the way that only you could. Each of us makes the other possible.
Happy birthday to us!
this is possibly one of the most moving entries i have ever read of yours, patti - and i also read the one about being outraged by your own racism, and will read the one about kelli davis before that....it's amazing what a trickle down effect these words, powerful words, can do to change and shape reality.
happy birthday! cheers.
Posted by: bee/pixie | 16 August 2006 at 14:31
you know, I read one of your posts and I either laugh or cry, and wonder how you can do another one like that, and yet you do.
Happy birthday to both of you!
It must be that great combination of mother and daughter, growing, learning, sharing, celebrating life together that is turning up this wonderfulness! Keep it up, I (and I am sure there are others who agree with me) are definitely enjoying the ride!
Posted by: Steve Sherlock | 16 August 2006 at 19:20
what a beautiful, touching post.
happy, happy birthday to both of you.
Posted by: Irene | 17 August 2006 at 05:12
Have a blessed and fun birthday today!
What a lovely post!
Posted by: Pet Campbell | 17 August 2006 at 07:10
Happy birthday to you both, and thank you for all the inspiring you do.
Posted by: Sally | 17 August 2006 at 08:56
Patti, what great storytellers you all are! You and Emma are lucky to have each other, and blessed to know it so deeply.
Warm wishes and thanks.
PS: I forgot my OWN birthday once. Another story.
Posted by: Shelley | 17 August 2006 at 16:44
Today is my birthday too - but based on hindu calendar :) Next year, it would be a different date. Its actually quite fun asking my mom every year, what date my birthday would be ..., but she would still remind me a week ahead of time.
Posted by: Prasad | 17 August 2006 at 20:14
What a beautiful, beautiful post. Wishing you and Emma many more happy birthdays.
Posted by: terrilynn | 18 August 2006 at 08:02
Many thanks to everyone for the wonderful, encouraging, happy, celebratory words! Each of the commenters has received an individual email from me to say "thanks," but I wanted to publicly acknowledge all their kind words here as well! Emma and I are enjoying our ongoing celebration (we'll keep it going just as long as possible!) ;-)
Posted by: patti digh | 18 August 2006 at 09:23
What a beautiful and touching post. Wishing you a continuous celebration of love and life. . .Happy Birthday to you both!
Posted by: Joy K. | 19 August 2006 at 01:24
What a lovely set of clear memories to treasure. Glad you both had a good birthday.
Posted by: Pearl | 19 August 2006 at 09:58
It is possible... I forgot my twin's birthday several times... but that's another story. Happy birthday to two beautiful people. :D She definitely has her mother's smile.
Posted by: Dan | 19 August 2006 at 14:25
dear patti and emma--
happy birthday and good luck with high school. my daughter, hailey turned 18 in june and is starting her senior year this week. i am trying to come to terms with the fact that in one more year she will be leaving for college. wasn't it just yesterday she was 14 and starting high school? anyway, thanks for another beautiful essay! emma is a lucky young woman to have such a mom. this post is a tribute to you both. best wishes--
Posted by: jylene | 21 August 2006 at 06:18
Happy Birthday to both of you. My second daughter was born on my 35th birthday. We shared that day until she left for college and decided to stay in Chicago for the summer.
Posted by: Chris Kondrat | 21 August 2006 at 11:39
What a beautiful and luminous sharing of the celebration that is your joined lives. Wishing both of you a very, very happy birthday. My oldest niece turned 16 on Saturday, and I watched my younger one perform in a gymnastics meet the following day. I thank my lucky stars every single day that I'm so utterly blessed to have these young remarkable females in my life...who mirror back to me my best possibilities and teach me well.
Posted by: Marilyn | 22 August 2006 at 08:47
I'm laugin', I'm cryin" I am so touched.your words are such a gift to me as I drive off tomorrow to take my 18 year old over 900 miles away to college, as I do I will be saying, "YES! spread your wings, fly my child."
Posted by: Bev Jones | 17 August 2009 at 10:33