birthdays

At this time last year, I turned 29. On my birthday, my best friend Janice invited my family and me to celebrate at her house. I can’t remember if I knew she had cancer then. I think I did because I think she had had her first surgery. But I could be wrong. I wish I could remember but I am also a little bit glad I can’t. Janice and her husband Marcus made us delicious fresh apple juice and whiskey drinks, Janice gave me beautiful handmade gifts and my family gave me the Gilmore Girls complete series box set. We concluded the evening with dinner down the street at a neighborhood pub. It was one of my favorite birthdays, full of family, love, fun and silliness.

Janice and I spent nearly every Tuesday watching the Gilmore Girls together so it was celebration that, particularly now, highlighted what a favorite Janice is to me.

Last August Janice turned 30. She had a big birthday with friends and family from all over the country there to celebrate. She had just gotten chickens and one of the party games was to help her name them. I still hadn’t allowed myself to accept that Janice was dying. I knew she was bald from the chemo under her wig but she just looked so beautiful, smiling and hugging everyone, being a gracious hostess, even having a little drink, showing her grace as we all drank liberally, maybe a little desperately. I remember seeing her at one point, standing back, watching us. I know she was seeing all that would go on without her. I wish I had been able to talk to her about it but I never crossed that line. I never really let myself believe she would die until after that night.

I remember talking to her older sister, both of us a little wild eyed from champagne and impending tragedy. She told me she couldn’t remember the last time she was that drunk and that she didn’t know what else to do. It was a party inspired and powered by love but underneath all the familial affection and appreciation, there was panic, an internal gnashing of teeth, a psychic, approaching wail of mourning.

The next morning, I sat outside with Janice, her husband, sister, and my boyfriend. It was a beautiful summer day, we ate breakfast leisurely, cleaned up a bit of party debris and talked. I remember telling Janice she was my favorite person. I remember that as we sat and admired the adolescent chickens, Janice got upset, the only time I saw her get upset throughout the ordeal, because the chickens couldn’t move into their coop right away and they would have to leave that day. That was the only time I saw her allow herself to feel fear about not being able to see a living thing she cared about again. I think it surprised her that she reacted that way to the chickens. We laughed it off but in hindsight, I think that was just the iceberg tip of her struggle with the end of her life.

Janice died the following month. I visited her on her last day. She couldn’t speak or breathe well, her lungs were filling up with fluid and there was nothing anyone could do for her anymore other than ease some of the pain – she was slowly drowning but was clinging to all her strength to stay alive to say goodbye to her sister who was traveling from out of state to see her.

I remember walking into Janice’s quaint, well appointed house. Hospice had set her up in the living room so that she could die in her preferred environment. The stark change in her appearance was a shock. Janice looked like someone dying; her skin was near blue, almost translucent, dark circles under her eyes, no wig to hide her bald head, yet she still radiated such beauty, such love. I was startled to immediate tears but I sat beside her, stroking her arm, telling her how much I loved her. She couldn’t really focus on me or acknowledge that she could comprehend what we said to her but I know she could.

We didn’t stay long. Janice’s family surrounded and supported her and I couldn’t really take seeing her in agony. That was the last time I saw Janice alive.

Now, a few days after my thirtieth birthday and a day before my big birthday party, I realized that my apprehension toward the impending celebration is of course connected to my loss. I wish with all my heart that Janice could be here now to celebrate with me. We have celebrated our birthdays together since we were in 7th and 8th grade. This past year Thanksgiving and Christmas were difficult but I had hosting duties to distract me from sadness – at my party tomorrow I will have no such role. I know I am going to have a fantastic time; I’m already flattered and excited at how much effort my friends have put into this party and I know it’s going to be fun. I just miss Janice.

From freends