Hazel’s Birthday - Cathy Graham

Hazel stared out the window at the Chickadees on the feeder and sighed with resignation. 

It all started with that small kitchen fire when she forgot some roast chicken in the oven while watching TV. Big deal! The smoke had singed the cupboards near the stove. The smoke detector went off, and she had managed to put it out with the fire extinguisher her son Dan had given her once she figured out how it worked.

And then there was that little fender bender at the grocery store parking lot and running that stop sign. It wasn’t her fault about the stop sign. The tree branches were in the way. Was that reason to take her license away? She didn’t want to drive anymore anyhow. Too many crazies on the road.

The final straw was her falling when coming down the stairs from the second floor and breaking her ankle. Now she was confined to this small, stuffy room at the Windy Willows Seniors’ Home.

Even the prospect of Christmas did nothing to lift her spirits. Bah Humbug!

These were supposed to be her golden years. Why did people call them golden? They were anything but. In reality, growing old was downright lonely and miserable. All her family and friends had passed away. 

There was her son Dan and his family, but she rarely saw them, and her grandchildren Michelle and Tom, were in their twenties now and busy with their own lives. 

She stared at the cat calendar on the wall, trying to remember what day it was. It was Saturday. Her vision was blurry even with her glasses on. She probably needed new glasses but why bother? It’s not like she read books, painted or wrote stories anymore.

December 21. It was her birthday today. Nobody would remember and why should they? Who wanted to celebrate turning 90 anyhow? She didn’t want to acknowledge being that old.

She looked down at her gnarled and veiny hands covered in age spots. Were those really her hands? They throbbed and ached in reply. Yes, they were definitely hers.

She picked up a black and white photo from her nightstand of her at five years old at Christmas time. She remembered how proud she had been of that red velvet dress with the big bow on it and those black Mary Jane shoes that pinched her toes. Her brown hair was all wavy and curled with a huge red bow on top that matched her dress. She had on those itchy, uncomfortable tights she had to wear in winter. No wearing pants for girls in those days.

She was holding a snow globe with a snowman in it, her favourite present that Christmas. How she had loved shaking it to watch the snow cascading down. Whatever happened to that snow globe? She wondered. She’d kept it for years and brought it out every Christmas as a special family heirloom. 

No one would remember her birthday with all the silly activities happening every day this close to Christmas. 

All the personal support workers and nurses wore Santa and elf hats, trying to appear chipper and festive. Stupid Christmas carols chirped out of the TV in the lounge with those fake scenes of Christmas trees in the living room and a roaring fire. If she heard Bing Crosby singing White Christmas one more time, she would scream.

“Mrs. Lawson,” Callie the personal support worker called from the doorway. She looked like such a kid with that elf hat. Well, she was a kid. Everyone looked young these days when you were 90.

“Would you like to come into the lounge and play Bingo with the others? Marie is setting up the tables.” Marie was the recreation person, always trying to get everyone enthused about her Bingo games.

“No thanks,” Hazel said, frowning. She turned back to look out the window at the birds. If pouting were a competition, she’d win a prize for the best pouter. That’s what her father used to tell her when she was a little girl. She missed her father so much. He’d always been so good to her.

“Come on. You’ll love it. There’s going to be a snack, too,” Callie continued, coming into the room.

“Really?” Hazel perked up. She loved the snacks. 

“Yes, I think it’s something sweet. Won’t you come?”

“Well, okay,” Hazel said, not wanting to appear too eager.

“Your glasses are covered in fingerprints. Let me clean them before we go,” Callie offered. She took off Hazel’s glasses and rubbed them with the edge of her uniform top. When she gave them back, Hazel could actually see clearly. Her glasses had only been dirty.

Callie helped her up and got her walker. They went into the lounge together.

“Surprise!” 

Hazel was stunned. The room was filled with people, all looking at her. Colourful balloons and streamers hung from the ceiling. 

Dan was there with his wife Jen, along with Michelle and Tom. 

On a table in the centre of the room sat a large decorated birthday cake with the numbers 9 and 0 perched on top. “Happy Birthday, Hazel!” it said in elegant icing script.

Callie helped Hazel over to the table and sat her down near the cake. She lit the candles, and Marie started to sing Happy Birthday with everyone joining in.  
Hazel leaned in and blew them out while Callie and Marie took photos on their phones.

Dan, Jen, Michelle and Tom came over to her. Callie and Marie clicked more photos of them together.

“Hi Grandma. Happy Birthday,” Michelle said, taking her grandmother’s hand and squeezing it.

“Michelle, it’s so good to see you all,” Hazel said. “I thought everyone forgot it was my birthday.”

“We wouldn’t forget such a milestone birthday,” Dan said. “It’s not every day someone turns 90.”

Jen came forward and placed a present in Hazel’s lap. “Open it.”

Hazel’s fingers trembled as she ripped off the wrapping and saw the vintage box. She opened it up and there it was. Her Snowman Snow globe.

“Where did you find it?”

“When we were cleaning out the attic, we came across it,” Dan said.

“Now you can have it in your room all year long,” Jen said. 

Tom nodded and grinned. “I was the one who found it. It wasn’t easy. What a lot of stuff there was up there.” 

“Thank you all so much,” Hazel said, trying to hold back tears as she clutched the snow globe. She shook it and watched the familiar sight of the snowflakes cascading down on top of the snowman. Maybe it was a trick of the light with the flicker of the snowflakes, but she thought she saw him wink back at her.

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Cathy Graham, an Ottawa-based writer, has published short stories in online and print magazines. She explores themes of hope, love, and kindness, and passionately champions unsung heroes. Cathy is also a musician, photographer, artist, and creative dreamer.