The Party’s Over

“Look what I got for you, Mom,” I say, not knowing if she’ll like the flimsy plastic Happy Birthday banner, replete with pink and purple butterflies, that I hope to hang like a wallpaper border at ceiling level in her nursing home room.

It’s just a little girl’s decoration, after all. It came from a dollar store, along with the other trinkets and favors we’ve purchased to do her 80th birthday in style. I have no idea whether my sisters and brother and I will be able to give Mom a wonderful celebration or not. So much depends on her, and the truth is that for the past few years, she often doesn’t want to be the main character in her own story.

But this is her life, the only story she will have to tell. The only memories she gets to make with the people she loves. The only memories we have a chance, at this late date, to make with her. Happy or not, it’s time to party.

“I love the banner,” she says, and I am more than surprised. I climb up on her desk, then step even higher onto her dresser, and finally onto the headrest of her recliner, to thumbtack the Easter-egg colored banner across the top of her wall. She smiles with delight and I think maybe this day could actually turn out to be a lot of fun. But then…

“I hate this blouse the nurse put on me,” she says. “Who gave this to me? It’s too bright. These aren’t my colors.”

“I think you look great,” I say, “but not as gorgeous as you’ll look after we curl your hair and put your make-up on you.”

“What? I don’t care about any of that. I’m just in this for the guacamole and the Margarita….”

We plan to scoot Mom in her wheelchair across the busy road from the nursing home to the Mexican restaurant. She knows that part, and has been obsessing about the guac and the drink for weeks. What she doesn’t know is that we’re going to make a bona fide parade out of it. We’re going to stop traffic if it’s the last thing we do, and she is going to be the center of attention, the starring attraction in her own life.

“No make-up, no Margarita,” I say, with enough of a threatening tone that she takes me seriously. I wheel her into the bathroom, where the mirror is set low enough for her to see. I hand over her face powder with an old-fashioned powder puff, and she pats it on like foundation, spreading it evenly with the puff. Then I pass the lipstick.

She applies it to her cheeks first. “Your sister Liz taught me this. You never have to worry about your rouge and lipstick matching if you just dot lipstick onto your face and rub it in.” Then she smoothes a bit onto her lips and she is done. In the meantime, I’ve heated up the curling iron and take some quick swipes through her still ungreyed hair, marveling that someone so sick and broken can look so young.

Finally, we’re ready to head out to the lobby, where my siblings and their spouses will be meeting us. I spin Mom around the corner and there they are, bearing the rest of the party paraphernalia, cameras, cake, and huge grins.

Bridget places a child’s dress-up pendant (which perfectly matches the shirt she didn’t think she liked) around Mom’s neck, a gaudy piece of bling on her finger, and an enormous, glitzy tiara on her head. Mom beams! Mary ties helium balloons to Mom’s wheelchair, John passes out the horns and gives Mom a big kiss, and Liz makes sure everyone has a bottle of bubbles.

“What on earth is happening?” Mom asks.

“A parade,” we say. “And it’s all about you.”

For once, she does not object. She does not tell us it’s too much for her to be the heroine, for us to make over her and act goofy and pretend together that we’re a bunch of little kids at the best party ever. We open the door of the facility and are greeted by the bright sunshine of a fantastic April day.

Before we’re even out of the parking lot, and increasingly as we near the intersection, we start waving our bubble wands and blowing our horns and shouting, “Happy Birthday, Mom!” Dozens of cars slow down, pull over, open their windows, and call out their own birthday wishes for our mother. They honk their horns, give thumbs up, and blow kisses as they pass by, all to Mom’s delight.

Mom has the lunch she’s been waiting for. The guacamole, made at the table while she watches, is—she says—the best she’s ever had. The generous meal that follows is delicious, too, but she’ll be talking about the Margarita (yes, in a salt-rimmed glass) for weeks to come. By the time lunch ends and her presents are opened, she is very tired, but not so much that she doesn’t get a huge kick out of it when a young mom (followed by her husband and awe-struck children) stops to say, “We didn’t know we’d be in the presence of royalty!”

We her family wheel her back across the road, still blowing bubbles and tooting our horns, but with somewhat less enthusiasm than we had on the way there. Because yes, stories end, and this one was reaching its curtain call.

One year ago, at this very hour, Mom’s 80th birthday party ended. Six weeks ago, at this very hour, my mother breathed her last. In that moment, as I hovered over her soul-forsaken body and stroked her arm, I heard my long-dead father’s voice singing, for old times’ sake, a 1950s-era Nat King Cole song. One he’d sung hundreds of times when he and Mom were young and I was younger still, one that always seemed so sad to me, because even a child knows what’s eventually coming.

Even a child knows that every song—like every story—has an ending. Sometimes it’s the final tragic line that tempts us to stop listening to the music. But we don’t stop listening, do we? Because the music, like the story, is what we’re left with when this life’s party is said and done. It’s who we are.

The party’s over
It’s time to call it a day.
They’ve burst your pretty balloon
And taken the moon away…

“Do you want me to take your Happy Birthday banner down now, Mom? Because your party’s technically over…” “No! I love it. I don’t want you to take it down, ever.”

The party’s over
The candles flicker and dim…
Now you must wake up, all dreams must end.

“The birthday flowers John sent you have seen better days. Shall I throw them away?” “Not yet. Just add some water, maybe set them in the window. Give them another chance.”

The party’s over
It’s time to call it a day.
They’ve burst your pretty balloon and taken the moon away.

“Do you want to change your clothes, into something more comfortable?” “Did I mention I love this shirt?” “What about your make-up? Are you done with it?”

Now you must wake up, all dreams must end.
Take off your makeup, the party’s over
It’s all over, my friend.

Posted by Katy on 04/18/11 at 09:57 AM

Fallible Comments...

What a beautiful tribute to your Mom.
Posted by Lynn McMonigal on 04/18/11 at 01:49 PM
Wow. I'm choked up reading this, Katy. Powerful and moving. Makes me realize how often I waste my one and only storyline with tangents and subplots that lead nowhere. And how I must party as much as I can with those I love, because all too soon the party ends. The only good ending to all this is the surety of being part of that heavenly party that will never end!
Posted by Jane Johnson Struck on 04/18/11 at 04:08 PM
I loved this! Thank you for sharing even in the midst of the pain.
Posted by Terri Camp on 04/18/11 at 05:07 PM
Thank you, Lynn and Terri, for your sweet words.

Jane, I don't want to waste my story-on-earth, either!! And yes, my mother's party continues on. She's with some fantastic people up there, that's for sure.....
Posted by Katy on 04/20/11 at 10:51 AM
Just came by to do a little catch up reading and was so moved by these last entries. Hope your next season is a easier, but no less full of wonderful people and memories.
Posted by violet on 04/25/11 at 09:04 PM
Your story brought me to tears, Katy. I have a mom who is nearing the end of her own party, and it's a bittersweet time. Knowing she'll be with those she loves who have gone before is a comfort. Thanks for sharing.
Posted by Janice on 05/09/11 at 03:53 PM
Love this sweetness. You and your family are wonderful. I bet you have a truckload of awesome memories. Thank you for sharing this one. You made my day. :)
Posted by V.V. Denman on 05/17/11 at 07:26 AM
That is one of the loveliest blog posts I've ever read. Very touching; you are so lucky to have such a wonderful family and to have had such a sweet relationship with your mother. Thank you; you made my day too!
Posted by Julia on 05/18/11 at 09:23 AM
I also love the banner!
Posted by canon camera chargers on 06/03/11 at 08:12 AM
Most people say that there's very little room to express yourself at the peak of the formal pyramid, but they likely haven't seen all that the tux has to offer. With all the options you have available, don't be afraid to ask your tailor for recommendations. After all, he's the guy you're paying to make you look good.
Posted by mens tuxedo shirt on 06/22/11 at 02:32 AM
Thank you for sharing even in the midst of the pain.
Posted by exterior wall cladding on 08/17/11 at 01:43 AM
great tribute to ur mom.cute family.thank u for sharing ur feelings.
Posted by real resume help on 10/28/11 at 02:18 AM

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Personal blog of christian writer & fallible mom Katy McKenna Raymond in Kansas City, Missouri Katy is represented by Greg Johnson at WordServe Literary Read more Katy at LateBoomer.net Follow Katy on Twitter Follow Katy on Facebook 123 Recent Posts Try Becoming Brenda Starr Off Beat Scattered That’s It So I’ve Finally Signed With An Agent. Now What? The Spoon Sciatica Sweetheart A Woman’s Train of Thought Has No Caboose However much we own, we are all still living on borrowed time After all, when restaurants shrink portions, they don’t shrink prices. As with everything in life, balance is key. Slow down, you move too fast… Yeah, I know. I have issues. Search Advanced Search Syndicate Login E me at katy @ ngenius.com	The Party’s Over “Look what I got for you, Mom,” I say, not knowing if she’ll like the flimsy plastic Happy Birthday banner, replete with pink and purple butterflies, that I hope to hang like a wallpaper border at ceiling level in her nursing home room. It’s just a little girl’s decoration, after all. It came from a dollar store, along with the other trinkets and favors we’ve purchased to do her 80th birthday in style. I have no idea whether my sisters and brother and I will be able to give Mom a wonderful celebration or not. So much depends on her, and the truth is that for the past few years, she often doesn’t want to be the main character in her own story. But this is her life, the only story she will have to tell. The only memories she gets to make with the people she loves. The only memories we have a chance, at this late date, to make with her. Happy or not, it’s time to party. “I love the banner,” she says, and I am more than surprised. I climb up on her desk, then step even higher onto her dresser, and finally onto the headrest of her recliner, to thumbtack the Easter-egg colored banner across the top of her wall. She smiles with delight and I think maybe this day could actually turn out to be a lot of fun. But then… “I hate this blouse the nurse put on me,” she says. “Who gave this to me? It’s too bright. These aren’t my colors.” “I think you look great,” I say, “but not as gorgeous as you’ll look after we curl your hair and put your make-up on you.” “What? I don’t care about any of that. I’m just in this for the guacamole and the Margarita….” We plan to scoot Mom in her wheelchair across the busy road from the nursing home to the Mexican restaurant. She knows that part, and has been obsessing about the guac and the drink for weeks. What she doesn’t know is that we’re going to make a bona fide parade out of it. We’re going to stop traffic if it’s the last thing we do, and she is going to be the center of attention, the starring attraction in her own life. “No make-up, no Margarita,” I say, with enough of a threatening tone that she takes me seriously. I wheel her into the bathroom, where the mirror is set low enough for her to see. I hand over her face powder with an old-fashioned powder puff, and she pats it on like foundation, spreading it evenly with the puff. Then I pass the lipstick. She applies it to her cheeks first. “Your sister Liz taught me this. You never have to worry about your rouge and lipstick matching if you just dot lipstick onto your face and rub it in.” Then she smoothes a bit onto her lips and she is done. In the meantime, I’ve heated up the curling iron and take some quick swipes through her still ungreyed hair, marveling that someone so sick and broken can look so young. Finally, we’re ready to head out to the lobby, where my siblings and their spouses will be meeting us. I spin Mom around the corner and there they are, bearing the rest of the party paraphernalia, cameras, cake, and huge grins. Bridget places a child’s dress-up pendant (which perfectly matches the shirt she didn’t think she liked) around Mom’s neck, a gaudy piece of bling on her finger, and an enormous, glitzy tiara on her head. Mom beams! Mary ties helium balloons to Mom’s wheelchair, John passes out the horns and gives Mom a big kiss, and Liz makes sure everyone has a bottle of bubbles. “What on earth is happening?” Mom asks. “A parade,” we say. “And it’s all about you.” For once, she does not object. She does not tell us it’s too much for her to be the heroine, for us to make over her and act goofy and pretend together that we’re a bunch of little kids at the best party ever. We open the door of the facility and are greeted by the bright sunshine of a fantastic April day. Before we’re even out of the parking lot, and increasingly as we near the intersection, we start waving our bubble wands and blowing our horns and shouting, “Happy Birthday, Mom!” Dozens of cars slow down, pull over, open their windows, and call out their own birthday wishes for our mother. They honk their horns, give thumbs up, and blow kisses as they pass by, all to Mom’s delight. Mom has the lunch she’s been waiting for. The guacamole, made at the table while she watches, is—she says—the best she’s ever had. The generous meal that follows is delicious, too, but she’ll be talking about the Margarita (yes, in a salt-rimmed glass) for weeks to come. By the time lunch ends and her presents are opened, she is very tired, but not so much that she doesn’t get a huge kick out of it when a young mom (followed by her husband and awe-struck children) stops to say, “We didn’t know we’d be in the presence of royalty!” We her family wheel her back across the road, still blowing bubbles and tooting our horns, but with somewhat less enthusiasm than we had on the way there. Because yes, stories end, and this one was reaching its curtain call. One year ago, at this very hour, Mom’s 80th birthday party ended. Six weeks ago, at this very hour, my mother breathed her last. In that moment, as I hovered over her soul-forsaken body and stroked her arm, I heard my long-dead father’s voice singing, for old times’ sake, a 1950s-era Nat King Cole song. One he’d sung hundreds of times when he and Mom were young and I was younger still, one that always seemed so sad to me, because even a child knows what’s eventually coming. Even a child knows that every song—like every story—has an ending. Sometimes it’s the final tragic line that tempts us to stop listening to the music. But we don’t stop listening, do we? Because the music, like the story, is what we’re left with when this life’s party is said and done. It’s who we are. The party’s over It’s time to call it a day. They’ve burst your pretty balloon And taken the moon away… “Do you want me to take your Happy Birthday banner down now, Mom? Because your party’s technically over…” “No! I love it. I don’t want you to take it down, ever.” The party’s over The candles flicker and dim… Now you must wake up, all dreams must end. “The birthday flowers John sent you have seen better days. Shall I throw them away?” “Not yet. Just add some water, maybe set them in the window. Give them another chance.” The party’s over It’s time to call it a day. They’ve burst your pretty balloon and taken the moon away. “Do you want to change your clothes, into something more comfortable?” “Did I mention I love this shirt?” “What about your make-up? Are you done with it?” Now you must wake up, all dreams must end. Take off your makeup, the party’s over It’s all over, my friend. Posted by Katy on 04/18/11 at 09:57 AM Fallible Comments... What a beautiful tribute to your Mom. Posted by Lynn McMonigal on 04/18/11 at 01:49 PM Wow. I'm choked up reading this, Katy. Powerful and moving. Makes me realize how often I waste my one and only storyline with tangents and subplots that lead nowhere. And how I must party as much as I can with those I love, because all too soon the party ends. The only good ending to all this is the surety of being part of that heavenly party that will never end! Posted by Jane Johnson Struck on 04/18/11 at 04:08 PM I loved this! Thank you for sharing even in the midst of the pain. Posted by Terri Camp on 04/18/11 at 05:07 PM Thank you, Lynn and Terri, for your sweet words. Jane, I don't want to waste my story-on-earth, either!! And yes, my mother's party continues on. She's with some fantastic people up there, that's for sure..... Posted by Katy on 04/20/11 at 10:51 AM Just came by to do a little catch up reading and was so moved by these last entries. Hope your next season is a easier, but no less full of wonderful people and memories. Posted by violet on 04/25/11 at 09:04 PM Your story brought me to tears, Katy. I have a mom who is nearing the end of her own party, and it's a bittersweet time. Knowing she'll be with those she loves who have gone before is a comfort. Thanks for sharing. Posted by Janice on 05/09/11 at 03:53 PM Love this sweetness. You and your family are wonderful. I bet you have a truckload of awesome memories. Thank you for sharing this one. You made my day. :) Posted by V.V. Denman on 05/17/11 at 07:26 AM That is one of the loveliest blog posts I've ever read. Very touching; you are so lucky to have such a wonderful family and to have had such a sweet relationship with your mother. Thank you; you made my day too! Posted by Julia on 05/18/11 at 09:23 AM I also love the banner! Posted by canon camera chargers on 06/03/11 at 08:12 AM Most people say that there's very little room to express yourself at the peak of the formal pyramid, but they likely haven't seen all that the tux has to offer. With all the options you have available, don't be afraid to ask your tailor for recommendations. After all, he's the guy you're paying to make you look good. Posted by mens tuxedo shirt on 06/22/11 at 02:32 AM Thank you for sharing even in the midst of the pain. Posted by exterior wall cladding on 08/17/11 at 01:43 AM great tribute to ur mom.cute family.thank u for sharing ur feelings. Posted by real resume help on 10/28/11 at 02:18 AM Page 1 of 1 pages Commenting is not available in this weblog entry. Next entry: Job Security Previous entry: Wind << Back to main


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Personal blog of christianwriter & fallible momKaty McKenna Raymondin Kansas City, Missouri

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The Party’s Over

Personal blog of christian
writer & fallible mom
Katy McKenna Raymond
in Kansas City, Missouri