Grandma’s Birthday Surprise: The Lonely Birthday That Turned Into a Night of Joy

It was a still night in a little homestead upon the border of the town. The kitchen was surrounded with old shelfs along the walls, with cups, plates, and small jars of spices. It was slow on the clock that kept time on the wall, and there was nothing but the little hum of the refrigerator. Opposite them, in the centre of the table, was a little cake, with two small candles upon it.

Grandma Helen was sitting there by herself with frail hands on the table. She had white and soft hair and a face full of wrinkles that narrated a story of many years. She was dressed simply in a sweater and the cake was the object of her tired eyes. It was her birthday: she was eighty-three.

She did it alone lighting the candles. The small fires burned brightly and the still room became warm. She sang huskily, in a tremulous voice: Happy birthday to me…” The voice reverberated in the vacant kitchen. There was nobody to cheer, nobody to clap and nobody to hug her.

Helen was looking at the candles which flickered in the wind and she began thinking of the past. She recalled birthdays when there were people everywhere in the house, her kids running about, her man taking her by the hand, neighbors carrying pies and the house full of laughter. This was a dream of those days.

Her children were grown and had gone to a great distance. They were busy people, they had lives, their own families. They loved her,–yes, but had little time to come and see her. Phone calls were irregular and hugs were unheard of. Her husband had died a couple of years back and she had some beautiful memories to look back on but also a great silence in the evenings.

She shut her eyes, and wished. Said she, hushed, “Oh, do not make me so lonely.” Then she blew the candles. There was a trail of smoke that began to curl and die away. Just a moment the silence was heavier.

However–then–something was going to happen.

When Helen was going to cut the cake, she heard a knock at the door. She froze. But who at this time of the night? Slowly she rose with her walking stick, and went to the door.

When she opened it up she found her neighbor, a little girl named Emily, standing there with a big smile on her face with a small gift bag in her hands. Grandma Helen, happy birthday! “Emily, oh, hello!” she said brightly.

The eyes of Helen opened wide. How could you know?

Emily shrugged. You said so last week, didn t you? I wanted to think that you might like company.”

Helen could feel tears. She moved aside, and allowed Emily to enter. The little girl put the bag down on the table–it had in it some cookies and a homemade card with some colored pictures.

As yet Helen had not had time to thank Emily, when there was another knock. Then another. Two other neighbors soon came, with the flowers and a basket of fruit. They had heard of Emily, and came as well. In a few minutes the kitchen, which had been empty, was filled with voices and laughter, and the scraping of chairs being moved around the table.

The cake candles were relit but this time there was a crowd of people around. They sang, together, as a group, Happy birthday to you, dear Grandma Helen, happy birthday to you! That voice was glad, louder, filled with love.

Helen could not hold that in any longer, and she clapped her hands over her mouth in a paroxysm of distress. She had passed out of the singing of one to the singing of a chorus of kindly voices about her.

The neighbors discussed, took slices of cake, poured out cups of tea as the evening flowed. Emily enquired Helen of her childhood and the old lady beamed as she recalled games of long ago, dances she had been to and how her mother used to bake bread. All were listening with open eyes and wondering how little they had known of the amount of history and wisdom Helen had in her heart.

Helen had not really felt alive in so many years. She did not feel like an old woman who is forgotten. She was grandmother of all in the room, and belonged to a large family of which she had not suspected her existence.

Helen sat again that night at her table, when all the rest were gone, but her heart was full. She glanced at the little bits of cake left, the flowers on the counter, the card that Emily had drawn and she smiled.

Her desire had been fulfilled. She had said she did not want to feel lonely, and what she got was an environment full of love. Even the fact that her own children were not around did not matter- life had found a way to remind her that she was special, still loved, still important.

Tears of happiness were in the eyes of Helen when she went to bed that night. She mumbled a muffled thank you to the universe and fell asleep with a light and warm heart.

Since that day the neighbors never allowed her to spend a birthday alone. They would come every year with cakes, songs and laughing and they would always make sure that Grandma Helen knew she was celebrated. Her story was a reminder that occasionally family is not just blood based, but a kinship of good nature, friendship and love that surrounds us.