I love to host parties. Last year, I had one for National Pie Day. I wanted to have one when David was able to start taking Humira, but David didn’t really think it would be fun to have people watch as he gave himself the first injection. I had planned a cake shaped like the Humira pen and everything.

I only go into Paperie & Co. if David is up for me having a party. I have NEVER gone in there without buying invitations and hosting a party. Once I bought a dress and didn’t have any place to where it so I threw a party.

But the craziest party I ever had was when I was thirteen. I threw a funeral for summer. Yes, I hosted a funeral. I did NOT want to go back to school. I hated my middle school years. Hate is a strong word, and it’s a strong emotion, as David likes to say.

What does it say about me that my teenage angst fueled parties instead of dying my hair?

I dressed in black and wore a widow’s veil. I invited my friends and their parents over as well as family and neighbors. We started by burying a summer time capsule with ticket stubs and pictures of all the fun things we’d done that summer. My brothers and their friends did a cap gun salute and buried the box. Two neighbor ladies sang Amazing Grace.

Then we had a wake. It was fabulous. Everyone brought a dish and we had an awesome pool party.

And yeah, I had to go to school the next day. My parents were so great to let me have that party. The next year they let me homeschool.

Hmm…maybe when David is feeling really well he’ll let me have a remission party…

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