Just another day

It’s just a day on a calendar. August 27. This year it falls on a Friday. This year I face it with an aching for something I can never have again—the presence of my son Adam. He would be turning 32.

I’m going to spend August 27 with people I love. I’m sure we will talk about Adam. We may even look at photos from some of his birthday parties. One of my favorites is from his first birthday.

There’s my mother Jane feeding Adam a bite of cake as he leans forward in his high chair. His face is covered in crumbs and Mom is smiling. She loved babies—the messier the better. I can see the uneven shaggy hair covering Adam’s head. The lock of hair behind his ear is probably matted with food. That lock of hair always had remnants of Adam’s most recent meal—a victim of the one-year-old’s grab and smear feeding technique.

I don’t know if or how those who loved Adam or claimed they loved him will observe his birthday. It may just be another day to them. And Adam may just be another sad statistic, a young man whose choices outweighed his chances. A young adult whose substance abuse negates any joy he brought or gifts he shared. A young adult who looked to his friends for support.

I know that there are some that think that Adam’s death was his own fault. I know that there are some who should take more responsibility for their part in his death, yet they either can’t or won’t. Those two words— can’t or won’t—represent the greatest failings of all.

As Adam’s mother, the one who bore him and loved him, I can only hope that those who were with Adam in his last hours will honor his memory by not contributing to the deaths of any more. Put away the booze, put away the drugs. Just for one day. August 27. It’s on Friday this year. It’s Adam’s day.

Shopping with a pack of hounds

How many people does it take for a grown woman to consult before she can choose a wedding dress? I'm only asking this question because it seems that every situation on programs like "Say Yes to the Dress" (TLC on Fridays) requires an entourage. Some brides-to-be show up with a full complement of opinionated friends and family---bridesmaids, the mother, the future mother-in-law, the fiance, grandmother, neighbors, favorite bank manager. OK maybe not the latter. 

My favorite quote from the Atlanta version of SYTTD is from the ever-patient (and with the people-reading skills of a trained psychologist ) fashion director Monte Durham-"Going shopping with a group of friends is like leading a pack of hounds. You're going to get them going in all different directions and it's hard to corral them back in together."

As an avowed dog lover, I think I'd rather take a pack of howling, sniffing dogs shopping with me than some of these supporters!

Rick and I married 35 years ago. As I recall, the wedding plans were fairly simple. Mom and I discussed simple decorations for the sanctuary, and even the possibility of her making my wedding dress. She decided making a wedding dress was probably more than she wanted to take on at the time, so we went to the local bridal shop where I tried on a few dresses. I made my decision and don't recall it being a major ordeal. Our shopping trip would never have made it onto a reality program.

We weren't the only couples marrying in 1975. In fact, we participated or attended several weddings that year. I can't think of a single instance where the drama would have won any of the couples a place on a reality show. But then again, none of us had a pack of hounds with us either.