Day 273

This is the time of year when parties fill your nights, weekends, and waistlines. One of the last parties Constance went to was at a friend’s home in Evanston. She spent nearly the entire party reading the birthday boy’s books. For her, that was a party. I met Michelle and Marcus, new and true friends. For me, new friends make it a party.

On another occasion, we took our kids to a playdate at the beach and to a hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant. Marcus generously donated his services as the photographer at Constance’s dedications.

It’s common for introverts to think of things to talk about conversation topics before a party. They ask how you know the host, how you like the food or the music, if you saw the game, how you spend your time. Conversely, I’m a motor mouth. I go in with one goal, not to bum everyone out by mentioning my dead kid. When other people talk about their kids, they frequently ask at the end if you have kids. Then, and only then, do I mention Constance. “I had a daughter, she died in March. She was eight. She was a great kid; loved swimming and reading.” Then comes the hard part where I have to change the subject before the other person starts to tear up. Parties can be challenging.

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