A Celebration of Amy's Birthday

August has always been a month of celebration for me. It is a month sprinkled with birthdays that include my dad and mom; my daughter; my niece in Nashville; and my sister-in-law. The first Sunday of the month is traditionally the Caveny reunion, a date that stems from my great-grandpa John’s August 1^st birthday. A favorite August event from my childhood was the Caveny cooter (snapping turtle) stew. The extended family and community gathered for a stew flavored with garden fresh vegetables and a little pork for those less inclined to partake of the namesake turtle. I recall August shopping trips for school clothes at the Belk department store on Main Street in Kings Mountain, my hometown. While there was sadness as summer waned, heading back to school always carried its share of excitement –with me in brand new clothes. 

Amy’s birthday is also in August. I struggled a bit with the preceding sentence, debating whether to use the present tense “is” or recognize it as something from the past by using “was also in August.” In an ancillary, parallel internal dialogue of whether this is a date to celebrate or commemorate, I decided to go with a “celebrate” in the present tense. Today, August 20^th is Amy’s birthday - a day of celebration. 

In all honesty, it’s been difficult to find moments to celebrate over the past months. My experience with grief is one that it is physically and emotionally draining. I often find myself too exhausted to recognize those fleeting instances of happiness that flash and flutter through the periphery of my life. One evening as I mourned all the things Amy and I would never do, I determined to capture those darting snatches of memories that summon a smile and an occasional laugh – a focus on the good times. The list has grown long, and I have come to enjoy scrolling through it, especially on the darker nights. Below are a couple from that list:

While walking down to visit our favorite Irish restaurant and pub, Tír na nÓg, in Raleigh we walked past a club where live music pulsed through an open door into the street. Standing just outside the door was a 300-pound guy with thick, twisted dreadlocks that hung past his waist. As we passed Amy leaned in close and whispered in my ear, “Now there’s something you won’t see back home in Elkin.”

Every time we passed that spot she asked, "Remember that guy with the dreads?"

 

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One evening Amy met an old friend in Elkin for dinner. She promised to bring takeout back for me. When she arrived home later that evening, my gnawing stomach amplified the realization that she was empty-handed.  I asked about my food and she said, “I saw I guy on the corner who looked a little down and out. I stopped and asked him if he had anything for supper. When he told me ‘No,’ I give him your dinner.”

 

I ate my sandwich with a broad smile that night. It was delicious.

 

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Last year (2020), we were at Myrtle Beach on my birthday. Amy asked what I would like to do for my special day.  I suggested we drive north to Cherry Grove and have lunch on the pier. The sensory experiences of that meal mingled and became intertwined with childhood memories of pier fishing with my dad.

 

Now fishing piers, the crying caw of seagulls, shrimp po’boys and the smell of salt air bring to mind a wonderful lunch date with Amy and fishing with my dad.

 

***

 

Amy planned it all out – a train ride from Newark, New Jersey into New York City.  I was borderline terrified of the Gotham experience while Amy was giddy with excitement. We departed the train near the 9/11 memorial around noon and Amy insisted we experience a genuine NYC small diner lunch so we ducked into a tiny pizza place.  The guy behind the counter spoke with a heavy eastern European accent, so I quickly stereotyped him to be a Russian mobster, which added to my concerns. He had no time for my extended selection process. I was put off by his brusqueness, but Amy loved it. “That was so New York,” she said as we walked back onto the street.

 

It snowed as we walked through Central Park.

 

***

 

Amy fell in love with Union Station in Denver, Colorado. Originally opened in 1881, she said she could visualize all the different people who had arrived in the city by train from across the decades. We spent much time there watching people. When she saw someone she deemed as interesting, she would point to them and ask, “Tell me a story about him.” She laughed as I wove intricate stories of what led that person to walk through the door at just that moment.

She reminded me that good or bad, everyone has a backstory that brings them to this point in life.

 

***

 

I was lured to a play on the campus of the University of North Carolina with the feigned disclaimer from Amy that there would be nudity. In all fairness it was a great performance but as it was nearing the end I leaned over and asked in an overly loud whisper, “I thought you said there would be nudity.” She shushed me. “But,” I protested and she cut me off with a hard look. In the final scene the male lead was tied up in the standing position. The female lead snatched a sheet covering him to reveal him totally nude facing the audience. Amy looked over with a mischievous smile and said, “There you go.”

 

***

 

In 2018, Amy and I had dinner at the Little Rhein Steakhouse along the Riverwalk in San Antonio, Texas.  Amy cried through much of the dinner, recalling how her parents brought her and her sister, Dawn, to that very restaurant in 1982. She told me how she was sure that their dinner cost her dad close to a week’s pay from the Chatham Mill. She described through tears how she treasured that memory. She said we [she and I] should always be creating memories – that those memories will outlive us.

 

She was right.

 

***

 

But my best memories are of us simply sitting on our front porch on a cool summer evening or on a warm afternoon in winter.  Regardless of season, Amy always said the same thing: “We sure live in a pretty place.”  A slight summery breeze and night sounds carried her words to me again last night as the setting sun flooded the sky with orange just west of Bullhead Mountain.

 

***

August has a heightened sense of celebration for me these days. Memories of sagging sawhorse tables of family reunion food, ladles of steaming cooter stew dipped from a black washpot, birthday cakes, and stiff, new Wrangler jeans are now joined by remembrances of white-knuckled subway rides, college theatrical performances, and saltwater fishing piers. When I see a person who strikes me as unusual or who veers from the mainstream, I try to see them through Amy’s eyes and ponder their story - what brought them to this moment in life? I view life on a deeper level because of Amy. My life is richer because of her. Her continued gift to me. That alone is reason to celebrate her special day.

Happy birthday Puddin.