Rambling Wild

My oldest brother was born on Dec. 11, about eight and a half years before I showed up. Since I’ve been old enough to take note, he has requested a pineapple upside down cake every year to mark the occasion.

In the years that they’ve spent his birthday together, my mom has always been happy to oblige. When counted among the things our children want, possible or otherwise, cake preferences seem to be among the more reasonable. As I write this, I cannot recall the most recent occasion where my brother would have been able to enjoy his birthday treat. Whenever it was though, I am positive, was the last time it will ever be.

He died earlier this year, essentially alone, in a hospital in New Jersey. On his first birthday, post-mortem, my mom still baked his cake. I’m not sure when routine divinely becomes ritual or what sparks tedium into tradition, but it’s certainly not something she was considering when she picked up the ingredients or started measuring out the sugar for this recipe.

“I can’t even imagine” is a phrase that’s been repeated so many times that it essentially has no meaning anymore, but it’s the only thing that begins to touch on what those of us who have not lost a child are capable of conjuring on behalf of those who have. I’ve only known my son for a little over 13 months and I cannot get beyond half of a reasonable thought of what his death would mean to me before my mind completely shuts the whole hypothetical train down. Empathetically comprehending that kind of grief is just not something we’re wired for.

With the weight of all of that on her shoulders, my mother, Diana Marie Wilkerson, found the strength and purpose to preheat an oven and bake a cake for a child who would not enjoy a single bite on his 38th birthday. She would instead serve it to his father, his siblings, the one year old nephew he never got a chance to meet, and his son, who’d just celebrated his 16th birthday less than a month earlier.

Honestly, it’s a day that I would have liked to have forgotten at least as much as I would have liked to remember. The older I get, the more it feels like life is composed of nothing more than things to look forward to or things to get through. And this year has definitely skewed more towards the latter. Disbelief, passive anger and total defeat have been the hallmarks of my 2020. There’s no neat way for me to wrap this up for myself. Obviously, for my mom, it is even more complicated.

In times like these, and especially in light of the holiday season now in full swing, it’s probably not the worst thing in the world to approach our familiar ceremonies with open arms and let them do what they do. I cannot say for sure which traditions my family will choose to embrace or forego in the coming seasons, but whatever they end up being, I hope we are able to execute them with the same grace and heart as my mother did that cake this year.

And yes, it was COVID-19, if you were wondering.

Ryan Wilkerson grew up in Iowa and now lives in Idaho with his wife and son. He can be reached at [email protected].