By Charlotte K. Jarmy
Right after the Fourth of July, we released my birthday balloon into the heavens. My birthday party brought together old friends, my loving relatives, and Howard and I as hosts. Looking around a special hotel room, cozy with only two round tables, made me aware of the passage of time and its influence on our guests as well as on ourselves.
Howard and I were the babies of the group in terms of our years together - only nine. Several couples had already passed the magical number of 50 golden years. Only one couple in this particular group had celebrated in the traditional way: a large party bringing family, friends and adult children together for a catered meal, dancing, dressy clothes and many toasts for their continued happiness.
Two other couples spent their retirement traveling from continent to continent, skipping over any sentimental acknowledgement of their years of wedded bliss. My brother Martin and sister-in-law, Florence, fit into that group. They had only 11 years of marriage but thousands of miles traveling all over the world.
Our other guests were dear friends who had lost spouses over the years but will always be part of the history of this group, sharing memories that go back more than 40 years. In a sense, we were truly a family. We didn’t necessarily have to see each other often for our relationship to sustain that deeper caring and OK, let’s say it - love. We came together to celebrate important occasions and sadly, the sharing of painful losses.
The world around us reverberates with negative attitudes: red states vs. blue states, war and terrorism, children abducted and divorce still a sad fact in almost 50 percent of all marriages. I have sought and found comfort in new acquaintances in our community, people who have steadfast values in offering help to others. A belief in the goodness of mankind can do much to remove the ache that comes from the negative forces that are part of living in society. Albert Einstein told us that those who find fame and success must give back to their community.
I don’t want to secede from day-to-day participation; that would be irresponsible and cowardly. But I need to know there’s a place for me when my mood dips into “poor me.” My birthday party emphasized the gentle spirit of caring among my adopted family. I needed it. The chair next to me was empty. Today the flowers came from the absentee, and the balloon went up to the heavens.
July started off with a boom. We didn’t need fireworks to emphasize our feelings at 3:30 a.m. when Howard felt pain where all of us are trained to take notice: his chest. Off we went to Stanford’s ER over the speed limit, the streets being nearly empty. Fourteen and a half hours later, Howard was home again, exhausted but so grateful for the all clear from Stanford medics who were happy to see him leave.
Putting everything in perspective, an empty chair at my birthday party was a sad note on a special day. But having Howard home again after hours of worry made me realize what was really important.
