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Page Two of Treasure Hunt

It was senseless to continue to cling to this somber memento after 37 years, but I shoved it into the box and took it with me anyway. It ended up on another shelf . . . just waiting.

Eight more years passed before a friend, Penny, and I were discussing my mother’s inconsolable grief after Ray died. Mom withdrew into a prison of continuous sorrow, leaving her surviving young child isolated in a world lacking the nurturing and affection I needed to thrive. The situation was magnified because Mom’s first major loss was when she was four; her mother died unexpectedly from complications with a pregnancy. A full circle of generational grief had been completed and another cycle was in motion.

Dad didn’t have the resources to deal with the circumstances either. His own life had started with a similar chapter when he was six-years-old. His father drowned during a family picnic.

They each lost a parent in death, but I could see my parents day after day and still not be able to reach them. When my brother died, I lost everyone. Ray’s death left a crater in my heart and the sensation that part of me was missing, too.

Penny proposed that I should bake a cake and finally put those decorations to use. Her words felt like fresh air after a rainstorm. It was the bandage my wounded inner child needed to move past the hurt. "Maybe I’ll just go ahead and make it a party. Will you come?" I asked. Her presence would be extra special, since she was born exactly one day before my brother. Whenever I looked at Penny, I imagined my brother at that age and what he could have done with his life, if only things had been different.

I phoned Margie, another long-time friend and former co-worker. She listened as I explained what I was planning. No question about it, she would be there for me. I asked if her daughter, Robyne, would be able to come from out of town and be a part of the observance. Robyne and Penny had joyous, child-like qualities that would keep the day light and filled with laughter.

"Do you remember what your brother’s favorite cake was? It would be nice to make what he liked best," Margie suggested. I came up blank. Trying to recall a detail from when I was so young seemed futile. The idea of inadvertently serving a flavor he disliked made me uncomfortable, but no one was left who could answer the question.

I related the conversation to my husband later that evening and during the process of sharing, my locked memories opened. I felt a rush of adrenaline as though Ray himself had whispered the answer in my ear.

"I know it, Mike! I remember his favorite; our favorite!"

Ray and I loved it when Mom made a checkerboard cake using a set of special cake pans with an insert to pour the batter in the proper locations. The insert comprised two metal rings held together by supports across the top, above the batter. She’d pour one flavor in the center circle and outside ring with a different flavor in the middle ring. It looked like a target when it was finished.

She lifted the insert out and repeated the process with the second layer. Those two pans went in the oven to bake while she washed the insert and positioned it in the third pan. This layer would end up sandwiched between the other two, so the flavors were reversed to make the checkerboard pattern.

It was Mom’s habit to leave the insert in the last pan while the first two were baking so that the different batters wouldn’t bleed into each other during the interval. It was the habit of two eager siblings to stay underfoot in the kitchen and distract her as much as possible so she would forget to take the insert out when the final layer went in the oven. When we saw that our mission was accomplished, we would leave for safer territory and wait for the predictable sequence of events.

A loud voice from the kitchen signaled that Mom had removed the final element of the checkerboard cake and discovered the mistake. She scolded that we had taken her attention off what she was doing and caused the error. We already knew that.

She removed the insert, causing the rings of cake to break apart into perfect sized chunks for little fingers to grab and enjoy.

It really wasn’t as big a disaster as she made it seem, because the recipe required two full cake mixes and there was always enough left over to make a fourth layer, just in case. The time I spent preparing for the party turned out to be a phase of meditative healing. I was letting go of painful memories and replacing them with fresh thoughts centered on humor and love.

May 30 arrived and for the first time I actually looked forward to the date. The guests included my husband, Mike; his daughter, Julia; and my friends Penny, Margie and Robyne. They all understood why I needed to hold a ‘Pirate Birthday Party’ for the missed celebration 45 years ago.

I created silly pirate games involving pirate maps, tossing ‘gold’ doubloons into a treasure chest while wearing eye patches, and answering questions about pirate trivia. I read a child’s book about pirates and tested their recollection of the story’s details. Prizes were awarded for each challenge.

I shared stories about what made Ray so special and how lost I felt growing up alone. Ray’s death had been sudden while I was at kindergarten. I never had the chance to say goodbye or tell him how much he meant to me, nor was I allowed to attend his funeral. I wiped away the cleansing release of tears, finally able to memorialize someone whose brief life touched me deeply.

The birthday cake was chocolate and vanilla, utilizing Mom’s special pans. When I made the famous checkerboard cake, I was concerned that a guilty subconscious would cause me to bake the last layer with the insert still in place; yet appropriate. I crafted an island surrounded by blue ocean out of frosting and lovingly placed all those decorations and candles on top where they belonged. It was placed on Mom’s cherished cake stand with a music box that played ‘Happy Birthday’ as it turned the cake on a pedestal. We sang to Ray’s picture sitting next to the rotating cake.

I had a parting gift for my guests. They each received a small wooden treasure chest filled with items that represented what their support meant to me. I used the belated celebration as an opportunity to tell everyone, "You are a treasure to me."

"Will you finally throw away the decorations?" Penny asked.

"No, I don’t think so. I’ll toss out that old paper bag though. The decorations will now be out where I can see them and bring a smile to my face. If anyone asks why I have pirates on display, I’ll tell them about the most fantastic Pirate Party ever."

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©2009 Roberta McReynolds for SeniorWomenWeb

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