A Bittersweet Fourth of July

Last Friday was our first Independence Day in Seattle. The staff at our retirement community fixed an opulent mid-day barbeque for the residents—roasted pig that went on the fire well before dawn, chicken legs and ribs in tangy sweet sauce, veggie burgers for those who didn’t want the real thing, macaroni and cheese, salads. And, of course, desserts—berries and cream, cookies, cupcakes, ice cream bars. Those are just the items I noticed. There was probably a lot more food I didn’t see and couldn’t possibly have eaten.

We sat in the perfect weather and ate and talked. It was sunny and about 68 degrees—no heat and humidity, as mid-summer often brings in the Midwest. Just a soft breeze to keep the sun comfortable. An ideal Fourth of July picnic.

And yet, the day was bittersweet for me. I kept thinking about my mother’s death on Independence Day in 2014. After 18 months in assisted living and memory care because of Alzheimer’s, she was ready. The family was ready and had said their good-byes. But we still felt the loss. And I still do.

I also thought of other Independence Days throughout my life. Parades in Idaho. Fireworks and military brass bands in Kansas City. More fireworks in a lakeside show when my kids were little. Celebrations for the Fourth of July, a holiday commemorating the beginning of our nation, are designed to evoke nostalgia. We’ve been having picnics and setting off bombs bursting in air to commemorate the occasion for almost 250 years.

After our perfect picnic, my husband and I spent the rest of the day in our apartment, working on various projects. I worked on final polishes to my work-in-progress. We ate Shrimp Louie delivered to our door for supper.

Later in the evening, the fireworks began, though I didn’t see any of them. I don’t think this was my first Fourth of July with no visible fireworks, but it’s been awhile since I went without. Last year at our home in Kansas City, I sat on our screened porch and watched community-sponsored shows on the horizon in almost every direction. Neighborhood kids had their own sparklers and bombs. It all started before dusk and went until the supplies were exhausted.

In Seattle in mid-summer, dark comes about an hour later than in Kansas City. Sunset is about my bedtime, so I didn’t even try to stay up for any fireworks displays on the horizon. Besides, I’d researched where the firework shows might be, and I didn’t think they’d be visible from our apartment windows.

Still, even though I didn’t see the fireworks, I heard them. Loud and clear. Someone in the neighborhood was setting off loud firecrackers until about 2:00 am. I finally put in ear plugs to try to sleep, so they might have gone on longer. Each bomb reverberated off the walls of the buildings around me and through my ear drums.

I experienced the downside of fireworks without the lovely colors. Another bittersweet experience—memories of the past without even a facsimile of the beauty.

What did you do this Fourth of July? More importantly, how did it make you feel?