This past weekend was meant to be THE significant birthday party. But it was canceled. Sort of.

As I wrote a few months ago, the long-planned celebration was scrapped because we were well into Round II of COVID’s Delta variant days – back to masking and distancing, and no kissing, hugging or dancing cheek to cheek.

A few days after we abandoned the plans, my stepdaughter in California and my BFF in New York City confided they had already purchased airline tickets. “And you’re going to have this big birthday anyway, whether there’s a party or not,” one commented. That’s for sure. There was no escaping it. “So why be alone?” she said.

Truth be told, as good company as Dear Richard is, he is not really a party animal. There are a few things about celebrations that don’t ring his chimes. Large amounts of noise and the combination of non-stop yakking and laughing into the wee hours go past his tolerance level and his bedtime. So I knew if this birthday were just him and me, it would be a quiet one.

But wait! This particular birthday isn’t meant to be quiet. Once you’ve made it this far, you’re allowed to break any rules you want. That’s what it says in the Senior Citizen Party Handbook, Celebration Guidelines, pages 37 through 85.

So long story short, they came. My dearest lifetime sidekick, Ginger, arrived from NYC Thursday morning and I fetched her at the Buffalo airport. My daughter flew from Boston late Thursday evening, spending the night in Buffalo at an airport inn. My stepdaughter, Valerie, took the red-eye from Los Angeles to Buffalo, arriving at zero dark thirty, Friday morning. And then the hero of the day, my niece, Kate, woke up in Rochester in the wee hours Friday, picked up the Buffalo arrivals, and drove to Warren.

It was a huge effort on everyone’s part to come, all for one loving, kind reason – to celebrate.

The five of us span thirty years and yet we gathered not just for my birthday, but to enjoy our relationships and each other. Our reunion, was so much more festive than our emails, texts and phone calls. We ate cake. We drank champagne. And we laughed.

I seldom venture to the second floor these days, but this past weekend, all my upstairs bedrooms were full. The strange noises from overhead were mostly showers and laughter. and I smiled a lot listening to the sounds of my suddenly full house.

We talked about “the old days,” and family stories, about 9/11 and our changed lives. We talked about music, books, Netflix, and rearing children. We compared travel experiences, sharing airline stories spanning from the infuriating to the hilarious. Then we ate cake, drank champagne and laughed.

We ventured into politics and church, education and cars. We talked about men, the Steelers, the Bills. the Jets, and the World Series. No one liked the Astros. And whether or not you still hate the Patriots, ya gotta give it to Tom Brady. Mmmm. I think I even heard a few sighs.

We complained about the supply chain mess, inflation, and the current plague. We groused about our changing bodies, dieting, exercise and cooking. And we talked photography, gardening, theater, and Canada. We talked about our many jobs, work relationships and frustrations. And that drove us back to cake, champagne and laughter.

It was, for me, such comfort knowing that as different as we all are, we bonded as a group. Despite our widely varied experiences, we are like-minded in so many ways — responsible, purposeful, and deeply caring.

The five of us continued our chats in a comfy roundtable format – but from soft living room chairs. And we all managed to split off into pairs for separate one-on-one conversations that deepened relationships. I realized how important the group size was, how very different from the large blast I had planned.

I always leave a large wedding wishing I had more time to spend with the happy couple and their families. The intimacy of these last three days, the gift of time, will long echo in my memory.

Kate had to head home Sunday, and I drove the remaining three to the Buffalo airport Monday. On my way home, I reflected on the long, wonderful weekend.

Yes, it was pure joy. And it is stunning to realize that they all gathered to be with me, the newly crowned Official Fossil. I felt spoiled and loved.

I arrived back home peaceful, happy and exhausted. The champagne was gone, and thankfully, Dear Richard had eaten the last piece of the two delicious cakes.

But the laughter is still hanging in every room. And I haven’t yet managed to erase my smile.

Marcy O’Brien lives in Warren with her husband, Richard, and Finian, their snooping Maine Coon cat. Marcy can be reached at Moby.32@hotmail.com