John was concerned about me being thrown into such a family gathering; a 90^th birthday party, in Lake County, Indiana, among cousins from his dad’s side, some of whom he had not seen in twenty years.  He assured me that there would be plenty of food and probably lots of kids running around but was worried if I would feel engaged. After all, we planned to be at cousin Pauly’s the better part of the day.

“They speak English, don’t they?” I asked rhetorically. “Don’t worry. I’ll do fine.”

During the hour plus drive out to Dyer, I tried to get my family connections straight. I drilled John about who was married to whom, what were the names of their kids, who still lived in the area, etc. Besides combating disappointment over some gaps in what he was able to recall, he was concerned that we should arrive before the surprise.

Cousin Roseanne met us at the front lawn, after we parked. She was very excited to see John, who, I think she last saw eight years ago. She pointed out where we could find refreshments and quickly introduced us to members of the clan. The crowd, who gathered from as far away as LA and South Carolina, had already seemed to make themselves at home. Not before long, we were ushered into the dining room behind the front hallway so we could get in place for the surprise.

Cousin Dino was sent to pick up Aunt Carmella, the new nonagenarian, from her home in East Chicago, a home that had been in her family since she was five.  She was told she was coming to a birthday celebration for a grand-nephew whose special day was later in the month, so she would not be surprised to see extra cars on the driveway.

Shh. Shh. The call echoed in the hallway as Aunt Carm and Dino made their way up the walk.

When we all yelled surprise, we saw Carmella pat her right hand against her heart a few times, genuinely surprised and touched by the sight. As everyone stepped back into the conversations they were having before the big moment, she asked where Kevin could be found so she could give him his birthday card.

During the afternoon, Carmella made sure to spend one-on-one time with everyone. Her gray hair was pinned behind her head in a clean but not austere way that had probably not changed for the past fifty years. When she found me scanning the bulletin board collage that was displayed near the front door, she smiled at the recollections the images triggered and began telling me the stories behind the shots.

“I remember that jacket,” she confided.  “I bought it at Peck and Peck. I told the saleslady to put it on hold and that I would pick it up the next day. See the fur collar?  It goes with this skirt.  See?  I’m wearing the skirt in this photo over here…”

Her memory was amazing. Her affection for the people she shared life’s milestones with obvious.

She read every word on every card and remarked on each one as she opened gifts. She made everyone feel appreciated for their thoughtfulness.

And when we gathered around the special butter cream cake (half marble, half banana) and sang our tribute to her ninety years, her eyes shone with gratitude. Only moments later, as if asking for a great indulgence, she begged, “Wait a minute,” then she went looking for Kevin, the other birthday honoree.  She draped one arm around his shoulder (she still had 6” on him, although we could guess not for long), and she asked us to sing Happy Birthday again — to both of them.

And I couldn’t help but think of my friends, may of whom have fine-tuned their regimens of anti-aging creams or yoga routines and me, along with Suzanne Summers, one of the biggest fans of natural hormone replacement therapy I can think of, and I recognized it was us who had things wrong.

Aging gracefully is not about escaping signs of aging. It’s about welcoming each new year, each month, and each day with grace. With generosity. With respect and affection.

Sharing your Happy Birthday cake and song of celebration is no small thing.