33

The first day I was 33

 Ten years ago today, I turned 33.

I saw the film Up that day but remember little else of the day.

Ten years ago today was the start of the most difficult year of my life. The year I left the job I loved, was apart from Lauren for a good part of the year, and the year I lost my mother. Every time I hear of someone turning 33 I think to myself ‘I hope your 33 is not like mine was’.

The summer was relatively uneventful. I played on the football team I was on and taught a summer class.

In August of that year, we made a trip to Baltimore to visit my mother, who was alone in the house while my dad was in China. We timed the trip to be in Baltimore when my dad got back. We took a bus to New York and saw some people on that day trip.

In September, Lauren moved to Oxford, for a 2-year post-doc. I started my last quarter of teaching at De Anza; I was to join Lauren in Oxford, in January. It was difficult to adjust to Lauren not being around. It was just me and Geordi, our cat.

In October, I got a call from my parents; my mother had been diagnosed with Stage 4 liver cancer. I was distraught; I broke down in tears in a staff room at work; I teared up while teaching; I presented at a conference in Los Angeles and I have zero memory of what I said or how it went. I wondered how much longer my mother had to live.

I spent Thanksgiving alone that year, talked to my parents on the phone and saw Precious.

Lauren came back in early December, and we prepared to move from Mountain View to Oxford. Geordi got very ill. I had to stay in Mountain View over Christmas while Lauren went with her family to Sacramento, because Geordi was ill. The medical bills grew to be more than one month’s salary and I seriously considered putting him down due to the cost - I’m glad I didn’t because that was only about half of his life lived so far, and his 2nd half brought so much joy to my dad.

In late December, I flew an ill cat across the country and saw my mother for the first time since her diagnosis; she didn’t look good.

In January, I went to Oxford. I had offered to stay in Baltimore to help my mother; she refused. I remember getting into an argument with her about how I wish she would acknowledge just how ill she was; that was one of the last face-to-face conversations I had with my mother. The last thing we did together was bake, the day before I left for Oxford.

I hated Oxford. I didn’t belong there. It was Lauren's place, not mine.

In March, my sister said I needed to come home. I got to Baltimore and within 48 hours, my mother was dead.

There was the funeral to plan, the eulogy I gave, the burial. There was the depression, the sadness, the grief.

In May, I went to visit Lauren in the UK. We then went to Germany and The Netherlands. While in The Netherlands, I found out my flight back to the US was cancelled, due to an ash cloud. My new flight back would happen to be on the day I turned 34.

The last day I was 33

The last day I was 33, we took a train to Edinburgh. Lauren had a job interview the next day, and I thought why not go? When am I going to get to Edinburgh again.

A year after I saw Up, I took a taxi, to a train, to a bus, to a plane, to a train, to my dad’s car; from Edinburgh, to Oxford, to London, to Washington DC, to Baltimore.

The difficult year was over. 

Somewhere on that journey on the day I turned 34, I contracted the Chickenpox.