Sarah Nigbor

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my 44 years on earth, it’s to have no expectations for holidays and celebrations. I don’t mean that to sound cynical and negative. In my case, it’s simply the truth.  

While this 4th of July certainly wasn’t what anyone probably expected this year with the blustery rain and canceled fireworks shows, I didn’t expect to spend the day in a hospital.  

I’d been trying to reach my mom for three days without success by phone. This wasn’t immediate cause for concern; she has terrible cell reception and no landline. But by Day 3 I was starting to wonder. A nagging feeling was gnawing at my gut. Just as I was about to get in the car and head over, she answered the phone in tears. She wasn’t making much sense, but I knew she was in pain. She suffers from vein issues in her legs, which causes edema and sores to form. She gets cellulitis sometimes and needs high doses of antibiotics. It’s a never-ending ordeal exacerbated by other issues. My aunt called an ambulance, which took her to the hospital where my husband and I met her. It’s difficult to see someone you love suffer and not know what to do about it. It’s also tough to accept that you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, even if they’ll help her. I want to heal her and shake her at the same time. 

Today (Monday) is my 44th birthday. I remember the excitement birthdays brought when I was a kid. I always felt lucky to have a summer birthday when I didn’t have to be in school. Looking forward to family birthday dinners, a friend party and presents was enough to keep me awake at night with anticipation. My mom always made sure the day was special. Looking back at pictures of my sunburned cheeks, permed hair and ear-to-ear grin, it makes me smile.  

In my 20s and early 30s, birthdays were spent with friends. Whether we decided to go out dancing to our favorite band, have a house party or something silly like bowling in prom dresses, we always had an amazing time. We were young and carefree and felt invincible. I miss those days.  

Then when I was 32 years old, I had the best birthday I could have: My daughter was born three days after. We will forever share a birthday week, which is very special. Now my focus has turned from celebrating my own birthday and making sure Carolina has the best birthday possible. We’ve evolved from the days of Peppa Pig and Paw Patrol to shopping for “skin care” at Mall of America and her begging to stop at Hollister and Lululemon. Ha! 

I tried to hide my somber feelings this past week from my daughter and family. I wasn’t much in the mood for celebrating. I’ve been worried about my mom and this is the latest challenge (more so for Mom, of course) in a string of challenges during a tough couple of years. Surgeries, illnesses, mental health crises, constant running that comes with four kids in activities, my husband and I each working two jobs…it’s been a lot. Now, we have to figure out what the next steps are once Mom is released. I could use a day to be silly, wear a prom dress and go bowling.  

This birthday was a newspaper deadline day birthday, which 20 years ago, I would have hated. But honestly, it was soothing. I knew exactly what I needed to do. I got to write about people and communities I care about. I read stories by my colleagues that shined a light on things I didn’t know. My thoughtful coworkers bought me a Caribou gift card and I drank a LOT of coffee. It turned out to be a good day.  

I don’t think birthdays need to be about grand celebrations anymore. I just want everyone I love to be happy and healthy. That would be the best present of all.