Chapter 16 - The Birthday Cake
Leo would have turned twenty-six that spring.
I dreaded the date.
Maya had other plans.
At noon, everyone gathered in the Ladder kitchen.
On the table sat a chocolate cake.
Written across it:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LEO
I nearly walked out.
Then Noah stopped me.
“Stay.”
So I stayed.
We didn’t mourn for an hour.
We told funny stories.
Maya told everyone how Leo once attended a video interview wearing a dress shirt, tie and pajama pants.
I told them how he broke our lawn mower at fourteen and spent six hours pretending he hadn’t.
We laughed.
Really laughed.
I realized grief had changed.
It was still heavy.
But love had begun carrying part of it.
Before cutting the cake, I said:
“My son was not the worst day of his life.”
The room became quiet.
“He was twenty-three years of birthdays, jokes, mistakes, kindness, bad haircuts and ridiculous hot sauce.”
I raised my coffee.
“To Leo.”
Everyone repeated it.
“To Leo.”
For once, hearing his name didn’t break me.
It brought him back into the room.
Not literally.
But in the only way the dead return.
May you like
Through the people who still love them.
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