I hope you enjoy this lovely story as much as I did!
Goose bumps rose on my arms. "Hi, Mom, happy fiftieth birthday!" I heard my son, Brian say as clearly as if he were sitting next to me. But he wasn't.
Brian was on the USS Kitty Hawk on maneuvers somewhere between our U.S. shore and the Persian Gulf.
My party-loving friend, Denise, had invited me out for a quiet fiftieth birthday celebration dinner. It was unlike Denise to let such a special occasion go by without throwing a big birthday bash so I suspected a surprise party was commencing. When we arrived at the restaurant, I suspiciously scanned the sea of faces in the reception area. I didn't recognize a soul.
As Denise checked on the status of our reservation, I sipped a glass of Chardonnay, when once again I heard Brian in my head. "Hi, Mom, happy fiftieth birthday."
My mother's intuition kicked in. A single powerful throb stormed through my body, followed by an eerie chill. "I hope he's okay," I said softly.
A wave of melancholy washed over me, and tears welled in my eyes thinking about my twenty-year-old son, who was now married, and a terrific father to his own little ones. Was it possible that so much time had passed since he was jumping his bike over jury rigged ramps in the cow pasture, gobbling down apple dumplings faster than I could bake them and bathing our new kitten in his kiddy pool?
Knowing the intuitive connection between mother and son can be amazingly keen, I wondered if I was psychically drawing Brian to my side to celebrate this hallmark occasion. My eyes spilled over. My heart sank. I was searching my purse for a tissue when Denise returned.
"What's wrong?" she asked when she saw me dabbing at my eyes.
"I think I've had enough wine. I keep hearing Brian wish me a happy birthday," I said setting my empty wineglass aside.
She gave me an understanding smile. "Our table is ready," she said, ushering me toward the stairs.
"Surprise! Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday dear, Cindy! Happy Birthday to you! And many more."
With beaming faces and rousing voices, friends, family, co-workers, shirttail relatives, and perhaps a few people I'd only met casually in the grocery store, belted out the familiar birthday tune.
Combining my emotional reaction to Brian's telepathic birthday greeting and the surprise birthday party, I nearly collapsed.
I'd no sooner sat down in the chair of honor when a fireman entered the room dressed from head to toe in firefighting bunker gear, carrying a sheet cake that looked like it'd been set afire. My heart sank. I'd seen firefighters at other soirées and they . . . well, let's just say they entered the room dressed to put out a raging fire, but exited the room decked out only in their birthday suit. Didn't Denise know this was not only in poor taste, but also downright embarrassing? How could she have let anyone do this to me?
The firefighter set the cake on the table in front of me so I could blow out the fifty blazing candles. "It's time to cut the cake," he said.
It seemed a bit early to be cutting cake, but I was thankful his clothes were still on his body and that he hadn't started any dancing gyrations yet.
I felt a tug on my heart when I saw the cake was a decadent death-by-chocolate flavor, a favorite Brian and I shared. An odd hollowness filled my chest. He's so far away and so much can happen.
Once again I heard Brian speak, "Mom, be sure to save me a piece of cake." This time he sounded very far away. Was he okay?
I froze in my chair. Was I losing my mind? Was hearing voices another menopausal side effect? My emotional state was fanned by the fear that the fireman might be removing most of his clothing at any moment.
"I'll have some cake as soon as I get this helmet off," the firefighter said. Every drop of blood in my veins flowed to my feet. He was stripping! With one fell swoop, the man grabbed the bottom of the helmet and swiftly pulled it from his head.
"Brian!"
"Hi Mom. Happy fiftieth birthday!"
By Cynthia Briggs
Marilyn L. Ali