My eldest daughter and Erik’s sister, Kristina, celebrated her 26th birthday on the first of May. The evening before, the entire family joined her at a new Indonesian restaurant to rejoice over the wonderful years we’ve spent with her here on earth. Firsts are difficult, though, and Kristina’s first birthday without her little brother is no exception. The mood included the usual frenetic chaos that is typical Medhus, but a subtle veil of somberness cloaked our usual joy. We all miss him so much.

Lately, I had been particularly grief-stricken. I want to hide from the relentless pain, but there is no place to run. No matter how hard I try to shake it off, sadness is my constant companion and relief , cruel renegade.

But Erik delivered a much-needed spark of hope that night. The waiter placed a slice of red velvet birthday cake in front of Kristina. It had a single candle, its tall, near-motionless flame burning brightly. As we all watched expectantly, she made a silent wish, filled her lungs with air, and before she could pucker and blow, the flame was snuffed out. Because the night was cool, the air-conditioning was not on; remember, the flame was stock still before it was extinguished. And all of the other candles were still alit.  Furthermore, the flame vanished so abruptly, it seemed like an invisible guest had blown it out.

All of us stared at each other with eyes widened and mouths agape. We instantly knew what had just happened. Erik was never one to miss a party, certainly not his big sister’s. He had come to wish her well from the afterlife and did so in his usual prank-pulling manner. He had come to give us the relief for which we all longed. Thank you, Erik. Happy birthday, Kristina.