But First, Cake
A slice can solve so much
Every summer I would stay with Aunt Carla in Oklahoma. Her home has always been a magical place situated in a tiny town named Clayton surrounded by mountains, with a gorgeous view of the Lake nestled at the bottom of the Potato Hills.
When I was younger I could not wait to get to her house. The excitement as we would exit off the highway was almost uncontainable. Our trip would start when she would pick my little sister and I up from our Grandma’s in the city. We’d always start the two and half hour car ride with a treat. Aunt Carla knew her niece’s so well, we’d stop at our favorite bakery and we would each get a piece of the moistest, richest, slice of chocolate cake. The three of us would grab a seat at an outside table and recap all the details of our last days of school for our very attentive audience.
Our parents had just divorced when we spent our first summer at the lake cabin. It was the perfect escape for us after what had been a very traumatic year. We stayed with our mother while our father decided to take a job elsewhere. Mom started a new job and unfortunately it was one that didn’t leave her with much time for anything else. Lola and I spent a lot of time with our grandma, our mothers mother.
Of course, for a seven and eight year old, it wasn’t too bad being with our MiMi most of the time, but we still had an incredible sadness within us. I think Carla could sense it. For as joyful as she was, she too had a bit of sadness within her.
Carla was our dad's older sister. For as long as I can remember she lived in the lake cabin alone. When we were still a family we spent many holidays there. It was a place full of fun memories and happiness. And cake. Always.
Aunt Carla’s famous saying was “But first, cake.” No matter what the situation was.
As I sit here at her kitchen table, thinking over all the wonderful times spent here, I can’t help but smile. She was always the warmth you needed when the whole world had gone cold. I can’t explain the ease she had about her. Anytime I needed someone to talk to about all things that had gone wrong in life, I would call her.
My mother and I were never close and as I got older we drifted even further apart. I think she was a little jealous of my relationship with Carla. She never came out and said it but I knew it was there. Now, as I sit in a squeaky wooden chair I have sat in hundreds of times playing with my fork, I try to find a way to say goodbye to a woman who has been there for me over and over again. Her death was a total surprise, she was only fifty, for goodness sakes. I guess the good Lord above needed her back. She passed peacefully in her sleep, her heart just gave out. Which is ironic considering how much she loved.
Although I am tremendously heartbroken, I am also incredibly grateful to have had her in my life. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t be who I am today. She taught me to listen, to love and never rush into anything. And now it’s time to say goodbye, but first, cake.
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