My mother turned 90 last Thursday, and we had a cake party at her house on Saturday. Twenty-three people came. It's the first time we have had that many at her house in a very long time, long before my father being gone or the pandemic. It was nice and I'm glad we did it. I was surprised that I was not more preoccupied by my father's absence. (If I put that on Facebook, someone would surely comment "he's always with you" or a similar annoying platitude. Yes, I know. I really do. But responding that way, no matter how well-meaning, feels like a push back - it denies my right to mourn, to feel sorrow.) But today it is on my mind. Earlier, I was overwhelmed by it. I'm remembering numerous other family gatherings. If he was living, we more than likely would have held it elsewhere. The reason -- he would have objected to her wearing herself out cleaning (which she did, for two days.) Still he would have enjoyed it, and I suspect it would have included much food besides cake.