Two Kisses for Maddy_ A Memoir of Loss & Love - Matthew Logelin [102]
Deb saved the day by picking up two cakes and a couple of buckets of ice cream from the local grocery store, and my dad grabbed a straw and blew bubbles into each of the fishbowls, literally breathing new life into the struggling fish. I couldn’t believe it worked.
At most children’s birthday parties, there are many more adults than kids, and this one was no different. My friends, Liz’s friends, and new friends I had met through the blog were all clustered in the backyard. There were a significant number of children, though—enough for at least one mom to comment that she’d never seen so many children at a one-year-old’s birthday party. I thought that was pretty awesome.
It was like almost every other day in Los Angeles—sunny and hot—and people were standing and sitting wherever they could find some shade. The kids old enough to walk made their way along the short trails that wound around my yard, flipping over rocks to find lizards and throwing stones into my koi pond when their parents weren’t paying attention. The older guests sipped beer and wine while my dad flipped burgers and bacon and pineapple sausages on the grill. I played the good host, walking from group to group and stopping to make a few jokes or hold a baby. When everyone had had their fill of grilled meat and conversation, it was finally time for cake. Remembering how much Madeline had loved it in Mexico, I half-hoped she’d end up on top of the cake again. The other half of me—the clean freak half—hoped she wouldn’t get her outfit dirty.
My daughter sat atop the table in her pretty denim dress, waiting patiently as the party guests sang “Happy Birthday.” She had no idea what she was waiting for, but she knew that she had everyone’s undivided attention, and that was enough to keep her from making any sudden moves. I looked around at all of the people who’d assembled in our backyard, everyone who came to share in my family’s joy, and then it hit me: there hadn’t been this many people in the backyard since Liz’s wake. It was like déjà vu, but with a twist. Many of the faces surrounding me had been here just a year ago—but now they were here for a far different purpose, not dressed in dark funeral clothes, not crying. As I brought myself back to the present, a few tears flowed from my eyes.
I was crying for Liz, who would never see this birthday or any that would follow; I was crying for Madeline, who would never meet the woman I loved, the mother who had wanted to meet her so badly. I tried to shake the thoughts from my head, working hard to keep my promise of focusing today on Madeline’s happiness rather than on my own sadness. But it was hard. The reminders of Liz were everywhere, and I wanted nothing more at that moment than to be our family of three.
When it came time to blow out the candle in the middle of the cake, Maddy stared at the flame, not sure what to do. She reached out, aiming her little fingers at the flickering light, and I quickly blew it out before she had a chance to learn what a second-degree burn felt like. Everyone clapped and cheered, eliciting a huge, largely toothless smile from Madeline.
In addition to constant hand washing, part of my pre-baby OCD included an aversion to messy little kids with dirty little faces. I used to get sick to my stomach when I saw a kid licking the mixture of snot and accumulated dirt from his upper lip while trying to suck the steady stream of mucus back up into his nose. Madeline had cured me of this disgust for the most part, but now I was beginning to cringe. I was fucking dreading the whole first-birthday rite-of-passage thing in which parents allow their children to purposefully smash cake in their faces and smear frosting