And beside it, close enough to touch, a smaller stone. Buddy. Our golden retriever. One of the firefighters had carried him out alive that night, though Daniel never made it back out. Buddy lived three more years before passing away quietly from old age.
My parents had buried him beside Daniel because that had seemed like the only right thing, and for once, I was grateful they’d done it.
I set the birthday cake on top of Daniel’s headstone. Ben stood beside me and looked at both markers for a long time without speaking.
I set the birthday cake on top of Daniel’s headstone.
We cut the cake with a plastic knife from the bakery bag.
The snow started falling, soft and unhurried, the way it sometimes does on the 14th of December. It settled on our shoulders, on top of the headstone, and on the frosting of the birthday cake.
I thought about all the birthdays I’d spent alone in that cemetery with no one beside me who understood what the day was. It felt different to have someone standing there.
I thought about all the birthdays I’d spent alone in that cemetery.
Ben held out a small piece of cake to me, and I took it. Then I held one out to him.
We stood there in the stillness of the cemetery, two people who had grown up as strangers and arrived at the same grave on the same birthday, and we said the words together.
“Happy birthday, Daniel.”
Ben put his arm around my shoulders. I let him.
