Just One Slice of Cake

“Just one sliver of cake”, she would always say as she cut the cake with a butter knife and scooped it on her plate. “Just one slice and I’ll be done. I won’t eat anymore, and my sugars are fine.” My grandma had always been diabetic, so she was extremely cautious of what she put on her plate.

Her last birthday that she was alive we all gathered together to celebrate a monumental age. She had just turned seventy. Seventy years young and still able to keep up with her grandkids. She would sit in her recliner and hold her grand babies and just sing. Her voice was so beautiful, almost angelic. Sometimes I close my eyes and I hum along to her heavenly songs and try to remember what the words were or how her voice sounded.

The kids would make her dizzy running around. She loved it though, because they brought her joy. She always hosted dinners at her house on Sunday, and it was her time to bring her family together. On her birthday we didn’t want to be far apart. She had us all. We had to have had 40 people there, all standing in the dining room waiting for someone to bring out the cake.

The room was filled with laughter, and the sound of balloons popping. The room smelled like the wonderful dinner that we all came together to cook. I could feel the warmth from the kitchen from the oven that had been in use all day. My stomach was full from dinner, but I was ready for cake. We had already brought out many ice cream selections. My younger cousins paced back and forth waiting for the delicious confection to appear.

My aunt came out of the kitchen with an inferno of candles atop a cake. It was rich and velvety, and looked like a dream. It was almost as if we rolled a wedding cake into the room, everyone stood in awe. It was that moment that I saw the light in my grandmothers eyes sparkle. I remember hugging her, and holding her hand as she gazed around the room at all of her children and grandchildren standing there. It was a rare sight, especially since my grandfathers passing nearly 8 years before. Our family had been so distant until this very moment that we were brought back into this very room for this exact moment. Perfection.

Though that last year her birthday cake was a chocolate store bought cake. It wasn’t homemade, or fancy by any means, but it was still a cake. It had sprinkles, and writing that said “Happy birthday grandma”. We sang happy birthday and wished her many more unknowing that it would be the last. But, nobody ever knows when it will be the last really, as nothing is ever really planned.

I remember the day clearly, as we all sang happy birthday and watched her blow out the candles. I remember thinking that seventy years though it seems like a long time is still so short.

She cut her cake, we passed slices around the room until everyone had a piece. But that’s not the moment that I cherish. I cherish the time I spent with her, and it took a few years for me to realize that her life was more significant than I ever realized.

It took her seventy years to fall in love, get married, raise a family, and become a grandma, and a great grandma too. It took seventy years to go to church, and believe in God, and to have faith.

But, she wished for thirty more. She wanted to live to be 100. At 100 she would have experienced much more.

She did however live almost long enough to see her next birthday. She was a month shy. Her health had taken a downfall and she was taken too soon.

Though on her birthday I promised myself one slice of cake. I went out and bought a chocolate cake from the store, and lit a candle to remember her, and cut myself one sliver of cake. I promised it wouldn’t be a big slice, just a little slice of something chocolate. Though she’s not here, we can still have a slice of cake on her birthday to remember Grandma.