What do Bill Murray, Larry Hagman and Stephen King have in
common? They are all celebrating their
birthdays today. In all likelihood, Bill
Murray will spend his on a golf course.
Larry Hagman will enjoy some sort of vegan smoothie. And Stephen King will remain low-key and
reclusive in his Maine home.
Today is also Tom’s birthday. It will be a work day like every other. Approaching full-fledged workaholic status,
my husband scheduled himself into a corner.
He planned a 3-day CE course for oral surgeons from around the world that
runs all weekend. The fact that the
course would consume his birthday escaped his notice entirely. When it was finally called to his attention,
he simply shrugged good-naturedly and moved on.
It is fun to surprise such a gentle and unassuming man. He expects nothing and is never disappointed
if that is what he receives. The first
of his birthdays that we celebrated together was his 25th. As it happened, his birthday fell on the
inaugural day of my graduate program.
Fortunately, the Public Health School, where I was a student, sat next door
to the Dental School, where he was a student.
At that point in his program things were very intense, combining
back-to-back lectures with long hours in the lab. Thanks to some help from his classmates, we
were able to convince one of the professors to end class early, making a
pretense of directing the class down to the basement lab. In the meantime, I had ordered a large German
Chocolate Cake from the tragically-defunct Baby Watson Bakery. Getting to the bakery well in advance of
their normal business hours, I picked up the cake and then transported it on my
lap on the bumpy Medical Area Shuttle Bus. Surreptitiously, I slipped down back stairs at
the Dental School so Tom could not see me from his lecture hall, storing the
cake in the nasty basement refrigerator. I reached my opening day classes in
the nick of time, running back to be at the Dental School by the stroke of
twelve for the big surprise. It was adorable to watch his obliviousness dissolve into as he slowly realized that the impromptu gathering was for him.
Tom’s thirtieth birthday occurred while he was a junior
resident. It came and went uneventfully
under the stress of harsh working conditions.
In those days, no one imagined that residents would someday be allowed
to work a mere 80-hour work week. It was
easy to forget birthdays, anniversaries, Valentine’s Day, even lunch. For his thirty-fifth, I was pulled out of town
for a client presentation, leaving him to play Mr. Mom with our young son. Such was our routine. We bought a house within striking distance of
Emory hospital in Atlanta so that Tom could assume the bulk of the child-taxi
duties. I was busy accumulating Frequent
Flyer Miles like they were going out of style.
In spite of the mayhem that characterized our lifestyle, we were
happy and productive. Each birthday was a joyous
occasion, reflecting our contentment in life and marking the passage of another year. In the
blink of an eye, however, Tom was forty.
What used to be a festive or mildly-uneventful day took on a weird
note. Tom came out of the operating room
to find that his staff had filled his office with black balloons and depressing sayings. He had never taken the time to notice that he
had been climbing a hill; suddenly he was over it.
Only at fifty did Tom finally take the time to pause and
reflect. It was a particularly bittersweet
day—a milestone that his own father never reached, having been taken away in
his mid-forties. I asked if he would
allow me to make him a party, to which he quietly acquiesced. What he did not anticipate was the extent to
which friends and family would pitch in to make this a special day for
him. As if he were George Bailey
himself, people came out of the woodwork to toast Tom. We had college roommates, wedding attendants,
classmates, colleagues, former residents, old friends, new friends, --even family
members who travelled the 3000 mile distance from Oregon. Those who could not attend sent letters and
well-wishes. Tom’s brother and
sister-in-law, who make their living drawing for Marvel Comics, created a
superhero in the image of Tom that we dubbed “Half-Century Man.” It was a rare opportunity for a man who has
done so much for so many—albeit quietly and under the radar—to be the center of
attention. As in all things, he wore it
graciously.
Tonight, Tom will be exhausted after a long day of teaching
a technical topic to a non-English-speaking audience. He will want to spend time in the evening
polishing up his presentations for the next day. Whether or not he stops to consider the
passing of his 56th birthday, no one will know. If you ask him, he would probably say, “It’s
the next birthday that’s the important one.”
Happy Birthday, my love.
I hope we can spend many, many more next
birthdays together.
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