Birthdays are never quite the same when you’ve had a present from Death.
I should, I suppose, be greatful that I lasted until the age of 19 without a birthday fatality. My father’s grandfather died on his 11th birthday, I only found that out a few years back when we buried my father….
….sorry folks this post will include a few fatalities. I wish it didn’t, but it does…..people can be right selfish bastards when it comes to dieing (or is it dying? I can never remember)….
….anyway, back to the plot, after we’d buried him we paid a visit to other family members and there, written in stone on my great grandfathers headstone was my fathers eleventh birthday….I wondered to myself if they had a birthday cake in the wake….I’d have asked him but I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t have answered me…..he probably wouldn’t have answered me if he was stood next to me….no chance now tho…..I never saw my father celebrate a birthday….do you think this had something to do with it?
On the 20th of January 19somethingorother at 3.25pm my grandmother recieved her best birthday present eva in the form of me….all bloodied and screaming "Happy 50th Mam!! Gis a fag and do that thing with your falsies (teeth) again"……and there I was.
All went well until my 19th…when my grandfather decided not to hang around for the party (oh, poor me!). Actually, it was the day before my birthday, hence this blog.
I was given the job of informing my uncles of their fathers demise whilst my father remained at the hospital sorting out whatever it is that gets sorted out at hospitals during such times…..I toyed with the idea of just telling one of them, being twins surely the other would know instinctively I reasoned, but thought better of it and spent the early morning hours running around finding them both and ferrying them to the hospital.
I got a bit of kip and then, it being a Saturday night by now and me being 19 in a matter of hours I went out to get totally and utterly wasted in the company of my best friend. We ended up at some soon-to-be-an-Argos nightclub dancing (and kissing) our way firmly into my birthday.
Happy Birthday me I thought.
She died a very cold and snowy death two weeks later when some pissed up Range Rover driver skidded on black ice and demolished her car…..We buried her on a snowy Valentines Day (I’m not a big fan of St Valentine after that either…..or snow)
The following year my birthday sharing Gran died……not on my birthday, later in the year than that, but her presence is missed….you grow up sharing a birthday with someone and you miss them when they’re no longer there.
Anyway, it’s late (or early I can never decide) and I should sleep now I suppose but I just wanted to say one thing
Death….you are a total Bastard. You’ve ruined my birthday and when you eventually come for me I’m going to rip off your femur and beat the living shit out of your bony old skull and then stuff what’s left of said legbone up your …..oh, can’t do that cos you haven’t got one. ….Well, I’ll think of somewhere to shove it!
Happy Birthdays Eve to me.