Happy Birthday Luke

‘Tis the season for meringue, strawberries and whipped cream, Eton Mess.
It is Luke’s birthday.
His 30th.

This time 30 years ago I was pushing like a maniac.
Pushing for someone so wanted and already so beloved.
The past 2440 days I have been pushing just as manically, but I am not clear for what.

“I’ll never make Eton Mess again!” was an early declaration.
Yet the tradition continues, for Natalie.

Nat’s birthday falls the day before Luke’s.
She too, is a lover of the holy trinity that forms this dessert, but she prefers it before the deconstruction, in the form of Pavlova.

It was a dark year for Natalie when I first delivered her a birthday pavlova as an act of solidarity and love.
As Nat moved into the light and eventually to a state of joy, the tradition continued.
Even after Luke was gone.

The ritual of whipping meringue in the first week of June continues, but now it’s just for Nat… or is it?

It’s a marker, a memory.
I lick the whisk and the bowl in Luke’s place.
I feel him at my side.
I note that I am clearly destined to do this each year and Natalie provides a beard so that I don’t feel like an insane woman who bakes birthday desserts for her dead child.

Each year as I pass Natalie the perfect white peaks topped with clouds of whipped cream and ruby strawberries, I note that it is the last act of usefulness before I collapse into deep longing.

Happy Birthday Nat.
Happy Birthday Luke.
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