Bet You Can't Beat This

Our quarrel began the night before I was born and ended the morning she died unless, as I suspect, her spirit lingers to resent the funeral. A rational person would assume that if she knows about the arrangements, she should also know that I voiced her final wishes, defended her outlandish choice, and disputed their veto, but lucidity seldom entered our relationship. If experience and idioms are to be trusted, she is most likely flailing in her grave, blaming me.
Just in case, I will spend today resenting her back. (Lest you think I am disrespectful, I assure you she would appreciate this.) Today is not my birthday. However, it is the day she would deliver a birthday card laced with the only lottery ticket I would touch this year since I am not a gambler.

They all wanted me to enter this life on my grandmother's birthday. I teased them by sending my mother into labor and drawing everyone to the hospital on the correct day; but I waited until after midnight to make my appearance, setting the stage for a lifetime of drama. Mom and Grammy forgave me, I assume immediately since I recall no early problems with them. Struggles with Aunt Jackie, on the other hand, haunt some of my youngest memories and rifle the balance of the years we shared.

My penchant for never sleeping started with the long nights of vice-grip determination to keep her from taking my pillow. Sharing my room and my bed were enough - the pillow was not included in the deal. I tired of calling heads or tails, picking a hand, guessing a number, drawing a card, or rolling a die, and learned to feign sleep. Eyes tight, knuckles white, I listened for her to come in and then forced the weight of my entire body into my head. By morning, she ended up with two pillows, and I was left with my head resting flat on the mattress.

Insomnia, lottery tickets, and birthday celebrations on the wrong date were not the only or the most significant gifts I received from this aunt. True to her eccentric nature, she delivered excessive gifts, twisted in resentment, and adorned in life lessons. It took half a lifetime to understand that she was not purposely torturing me with the marathon dinners in lavish restaurants when I would rather have been at home, eating pizza with my friends, and that giving me extravagant clothes and jewelry that I thought were gorgeous but not me allowed her to play the mother sometimes.

For years, I believed the lifetime of resentment she harbored toward me stemmed from my having placed an inexcusable burden on her calendar. Either waiting for my slow birth had kept her from the most exciting date ever, or the thought of family celebrations on two consecutive days was more than she could handle. My calendar theory faded after years of watching her enjoy poker games, horse races, and bingos, and I decided she must have wagered a small fortune on my delivery date.

Whatever the reason, I had no power to amend my transgression so I balanced the playing field by endorsing her unique characteristics. Eventually, I earned her respect by beating her at her own games. For example, when she decided it was okay to lift a Christmas tree ornament as long as three like it remained, I bought the biggest tree I could find, decorated it in threes, and bet her a dollar she would not find a liftable ornament. She could not resist, or hide how proud she was of me for beating her.

When she announced her final request, I supported her. A game of showdown poker-winner takes all--on her casket seemed much more appropriate than a traditional will for this aunt. Unfortunately, husbands, sisters, attorneys, and funeral directors aren't always as open-minded as I am.

So, in case she is around, resenting me for not insisting on that poker hand, I will assume she is also wishing me a Happy Birthday and resent her having the wrong day. I might play a game of showdown poker and honestly lose everything she owned. For sure, even if she isn't lingering, I will miss her and appreciate the many gifts she has given me.