the Sadness of Happy times

I’m immersed in what is supposed to be a happy moment. My aunty turning 78 tomorrow, but I’m celebrating it today because I work the next day.

Ephemeral, but I try to soak in the moment as something positive, but even as I sit next to her listening to the waitresses singing Happy Birthday to her, I feel extremely sad.

I fight against the Feelings.

It might be the last birthday I share with her. She eats her chicken sandwich, no mayo, no tomatoes.

I get our picture taken; I look like a whole cheese dog in my black T, but I want it printed to remember the day one day.

We’re driving out, a copy of Ham on Rye and Post Office sit in the back — I couldn’t help myself, so I bought both. I see the closed Sears my father loved to go to. There’s a Coca-Cola van parked in the front of it. Maybe the guy that repairs the vending machines. It looks classic-like in its white, creamy color.

I drive her to La Posa, it’s full of people. We walk up the volcanic, crater-like rock where the lighthouse is. I hold her to make sure she doesn’t trip or fall.

78

in better shape than most, don’t see or hear too good though. Sometimes she thinks we want to kick her out, but nothing could be further from the truth.

Hurts to see her praying to the Virgin for help; her mind has gotten the better of her.

We love her, everyone does.

The wind is blowing up here, I hold her, she’s about 4’10” and 90lbs.

The Wind even knocks me around. I stare at this big rock in the water as the waves try to bury it from all angles. The water is deep– if I fell in, I’d be torn to pieces against that very rock.

Time to pick up the photographer up and go for some ice-cream.

The creepy pink The Storyteller laughs intermittently as aunty enjoys her strawberry ice-cream.

Another beautiful, but Ephemeral moment gone. It is the natural course of things. I try not to be sad, like the lizard in the mountain wall, but I guess this is what Lou Duro calls The Sadness of Happy Times.