It's my party, and I'll cry if I want to

Ohhh hi Grief, I didn’t see you there.

When I was a kiddo (somewhere between the ages of 5-8 yrs old), I used to run away and hide at my birthday parties. Sometimes I’d be crying. Other times I’d just be lying there under my dresser or desk. We never addressed it or talked about it. My mom would just roll her eyes. The same way she’d roll her eyes when I accidentally left chapstick in my soccer shorts and it melted over everything in the dryer. An eye roll with no words but big meaning like Cousin Eddie saying “Are you serious, Clark?”

My mom planned awesome games with awesome prizes for my birthday parties. I remember making the “box of prizes” with her. We covered a giant cardboard box with pretty wrapping paper and then all the prizes were placed in the box. Each prize was connected to a colorful ribbon that was long enough to hang outside the prize box dangling for someone to pick. I remember having so much fun helping pick the prizes at the dollar store - funny sunglasses, a bedazzled headband, sheets of sticker earrings. My mom even let me help tie the ribbons on the prizes.

Why at the fun party FOR ME was I the one upset and crying?

My mom never asked me what theme I wanted for my birthday party. My mom never asked me what I wanted to be for Halloween. My mom never asked me what my favorite cake was. That’s just not the kinda mom she was during that time. She had money and mental capacity for what she knew. She was a teacher so she was very creative and resourceful. My mom was doing “the best she could”. That phrase is said a lot. I absolutely believe my mom was doing the best she knew how - she was engaging and creative and resourceful, and every kid at my birthday party had a great time.

Except me.***

I don’t think my mom knew any better than to roll her eyes at her kid not enjoying her own birthday party. I don’t think she knew any better than to continue planning the parties, making the Halloween costumes, doing it all without checking in with me. Without asking the question “hey are you OK? Why are you crying?” Without the eye roll.

She was doing the best she knew how. I don’t think she knew any better.

My birthday is next week and I’ve been thinking about little Jen - why did she do that? More importantly, why didn’t anyone else ask Little Jen that? My mom was doing the best she could. There wasn’t talk of mental health or therapy. Therapy was for “people with problems”. It wasn’t even called therapy back then. It was called “seeing a shrink”. And that wasn’t for us. We were normal. WE WERE FINE. I’ll give my kid the eye roll so she’ll know I’m frustrated, she’ll still go run away and the party will go on without her. Ughhh, there’s really good prizes and everyone will have FUN! Isn’t everyone having so much fun?!

If I saw any of my friend’s kiddos crying or hiding during some sort of event, I would absolutely be asking questions. Are you OK? Why are you crying? Do you want to talk about this?

I think Little Jen wanted a voice. I think she wanted to be a part of the planning and not just show up. I think she wanted people to gush over HER, on her birthday. It’s her one day of the year after all! Can she be the center of attention for one freaking day? She wanted to be seen both ways: in the planning of her birthday party (you matter, you make the decision) and in the happy birthday on the actual day (it’s your day!).

Little Jen wanted a voice.

I remember when my mom had her head shaved after her chemo started kicking in. She had known it was a possibility for a while, and her hair had started coming out in chunks. Once she made peace with “OK this is really happening”, her hair stylist and our neighbor, came over and shaved her head outside. It was a summer evening so all the neighborhood kids were outside playing. Eventually everyone ended up on my mom’s patio hanging out while she got her head shaved. It was a beautiful community event where, although my mom was the center of attention, she wasn’t the kind of “center of attention” like you’re on stage with a spotlight.

My dad was the “put me on a stage, give me a microphone and I want a hype song playing when I get out there” kinda guy. Loud, proud and everyone listen to me and only me. My mom was much more subtle. She wanted to know people thought she was the most creative or the most resourceful, but she didn’t need a stage/microphone/spotlight. She just needed to be seen. She lived for the “Karen, this prize box is AMAZING! You’re soooo creative!” She needed to be seen, without the big spotlight.

I’m a mixture of both my parents. I love being on a stage with a microphone in the spotlight… if I’m confident in what I’m doing. I also love that compliment coming from someone who can’t believe the thing I did/said: “Jen, you’re doing AMAZING with your grief! You’re soooo strong!”

After my mom shaved her head, she walked around proudly without her wig. I can’t tell you how many people would compliment her shaved head ANYWHERE we went. Strangers would tell her what a lovely shaped head my mom had. And my mom loved this attention. She wasn’t in the spotlight on a stage, but she was being seen. By family. By friends. By strangers. People who would otherwise pass her blindly walking into Target were now commenting on a positive part of her cancer.

We see you. And you’re making it look SO good!

Shortly after my mom shaved her head, I broke my arm. I was in an arm sling for the rest of summer. I remember going with my mom to her weekly oncologist appointment with Dr. Frankenstein. That’s not his real name, that’s just what we called him. Dr. Frankenstein noticed my arm right away and spent a solid 5 minutes talking to me about the break, the surgeon, all the things about my broken arm. I could tell my mom was getting annoyed. Hello? This is MY cancer appointment! I’m the patient that needs help here!!!

Later that same day, my mom and I were dining alfresco (I can hear her right now saying: Just say we were “sitting outside”. Not everyone knows those fancy terms like alfredo). A group of older gentleman approached our table and asked how I broke my arm. They then told us the story of how their group met in shoulder recovery physical therapy and remained friends ever since. They all have breakfast/lunch every month together. I thought it was the loveliest interaction! I felt so good being seen! No spotlight or stage necessary. Just a couple of guys who recognized that I was going through what they had gone through years back.

My mom on the other hand was fuming. After they left she went on a short and sarcastic rant “Did they MISS your mom sitting RIGHT HERE with a shaved head? Don’t mind me, I’m just over here DYING of cancer.”

Hey, are you OK? Why are you so upset? Do you want to talk about it?

My mom and I had one of our many deep and tough conversations that day. She admitted that it felt weird to be ignored. I pressed further and asked her “did you feel completely ignored with your onlcologist and with this group of older gentlemen? Or did you feel like I was the center of attention…and you weren’t?”

Ohhh hi Grief, I didn’t see you there.

I recently went through a similar experience with my older friends, Don and Corky. Corky has metastatic breast cancer and it’s currently stable. That doesn’t mean she’s OK. That means it’s the calm before the storm - it’s not horrible right now, but it’s coming. Last week, her husband Don was in the hospital for something “easily fixable”. One of his son’s flew in from California. His other son took off work. Don and Corky were surrounded with love and support! Everyone was/is so concerned about Don.

I felt that same anger and frustration coming from Corky. I imagine she was feeling the same thing my mom felt - both were used to being that center of attention. Everyone always asked how my mom was doing (obviously how her cancer was doing). Everyone always asks Corky how she’s doing (obviously how her cancer is doing). To have someone ask THAT person how someone ELSE is doing feels BIG feelings. To have my mom’s cancer doctor ask me about my arm = big feelings. To have everyone ask Corky how her husband is doing = big feelings.

I think Little Jen, my mom and Corky want to be seen. And when it’s YOUR day, YOUR thing, YOUR cancer, and YOU are NOT that center of attention, there’s big feelings. Big dysregulated feelings.

I think Little Jen just wanted to be a part of HER birthday theme and pick out HER halloween costume. I think she felt ignored. I think she felt disregarded. I think she felt that she wasn’t even considered. Of course a little kiddo wants the spotlight on her birthday.

And that’s valid.

I think my mom felt the same. I think Corky felt the same.

As my birthday approaches without my mom, I feel the same as I did last year. I feel that I want two very opposite things - I want everyone to leave me alone AND I want to be snuggled in love. I’m feeling all the feels. I’m checking in with myself and asking the big questions: “hey are you OK? Why are you crying? Do you want to write about it?”

I’m not OK. I want to be alone. I don’t want to be anywhere near my phone. I can’t deal with your problems or listen to your stories right now. I’m feeling heavy in my grief and feelings. Leave me the fuck alone.

AND

I miss my mom. I miss how she would wrap my presents in the loveliest wrapping paper. And she’d have some story about how she got that wrapping paper on sale and then she had a coupon. There would be a similar story with the actual gift. There would almost always be a mention of Kohl’s Cash somewhere in the mix. I miss her seeing me. I just want people to see me.

It’s not the spotlight or the gift. It’s that feeling of not being seen at all. It’s MY birthday, and nobody asked me what I wanted for a theme. My mom planned everything, so I’m just showing up. I could easily have been any student of hers. She’s in charge. It doesn’t matter that it’s my birthday. It’s MY birthday, and all my friends were so excited for the prize box. Nobody was telling me happy birthday or saying I had a cool sticker earrings. They were completely obsessed with the prize box.

It’s not that my mom didn’t want people talking to me about my broken arm. It’s that she felt invisible, even with an obviously shaved head. It’s not that Corky doesn’t want people checking in about her husband. It’s that she felt like she wasn’t even considered as also being sick, even with Stage 4 Cancer.

When I want to feel invisible, I know how to do that. I stayed home on Saturday night to binge OMITB. I made a garbage salad that was so freaking good. My phone was God knows where. I was invisible and I loved it. When I want to be seen, I know how to do that. I went out the night before with a friend for dinner in the city and a comedy show. I wore awesome jewelry, my new blazer from my friend’s boutique and leather pants. I wanted to be seen!

When I feel invisible AND seen, it’s dysregulating. When I show up wanting/expecting to be seen AND I’m not, it’s dysregulating.

I’m doing my best to find the harmony in feeling both.

The real work is recognizing those big feelings, sitting in it and asking those questions and regulating yourself. Those steps seem pretty easy, but they’re not. I’m working on it though. My shrink says I’m doing great;)

~Jen

***I am in NO WAY, SHAPE, OR FORM saying that I didn’t feel loved ALL THE TIME in my childhood. I am saying that in these particular instances, I felt big feelings. I love my mom, and I know she was doing the best she could.