Happy Birthday, Frances

I walked through the door and she looked so happy and beautiful in her long white nighgown and pretty scarf around her head. We hugged tightly and tenderly. I began to sing my jazzy happy birthday song which I only sing for close family and friends. She blushed and told me to stop. I continued and then she joined in, snapping her fingers, singing soprano to my alto; we harmonized. We hugged again. I bought New York strips and baby broccoli and portobello mushrooms for the sides, simple: garlic, sea salt, and black pepper. While I cooked we talked. When I was out of sight, I called for her to keep talking, that I could hear her, that I was listening. She talked about her first love Paulie Scalese. Her husband and their love; she talked about her childhood, and life. I listened and talked about things too. We ate and communed--. I got her favourite cake and placed two 8's, one green and one pink, on her cake. I lit the candles. I walked to where she was sitting, singing happy birthday, and knelt in front of her, singing, still. She blushed once again and wound up clapping and singing with me. "Make a wish Frances. And don't rush. Take your time and make a wish." She closed her eyes for a long time. Then out loud, she said a loving prayer for her family and loved ones. Then blew out her candles. We ate the sweet and decadent cake, and talked and laughed. I had to leave to bring my friend to the airport. It was time to go. She put her head down and said softly, "Thank you." "You are my friend. This is what friends do. I love you." At the door she asked about the possibility of romantic love. I replied, "As long as we're breathing, anything is possible, Frances. With God, ALL things are possible. I'm excited about your life and all the wonderful possibilities and dreams and goals to come for you. Be excited and be hopeful." We hugged tightly and tenderly. And I left. (4/17/17 rip)