Red Velvet Cake

Red Velvet Cake

I had not given it much thought when Aunt Marie asked me to help her clean out her things to prepare for the move she dreaded. It was time and she knew it. Preparing to leave the home she loved was going to be the most difficult move of her ninety-five years, but her daily physical pain was no longer tolerable. She would no longer be the self-sufficient and extremely independent woman that she felt brought her the respect and admiration of her family. Asking me for help must have been hard but she chose her words carefully as she explained exactly what she needed from me and how I was to plan to come on a certain day and time in order to accomplish it all within a week.

Upon arriving I was greeted at the door with the usual hello and small talk, but she had decided that we should hurry along and get started so as not to burn too much daylight. She quickly directed me to open all shades in the house and I realized that was to be our light for the day. I hadn't really noticed in my previous visits, no overhead lights in her older home only lamps to softly lighten each room, so I proceeded down the hallway as instructed to open each curtain and shade. "Feeling feeble" as she called it, kept her from following me with the wheeled walker that assisted her every move while on her feet. True, she must have noticed that I lingered in the last bedroom longer than necessary because when she called my name it broke me from gazing through the window at her bird feeders lining the back edge of her yard. I found myself down memory lane thinking about the picnics, family gatherings and playing games "right out there", as I pointed out to myself before turning for the door.

The first few days of my visit were spent cleaning out kitchen cabinets and drawers, filling boxes marked keep and give away. She had wanted so badly to keep as much as possible, but she knew the place she had found would prepare her meals and supply her with so many other amenities, taking all she had accumulated would not be practical. Besides, she knew the young couple who bought the house next door could use anything she decided to leave behind. It thrilled her to know that so many treasured things would have a home with young people who needed them. The kitchen and dining room were finished within the first day and it was good to chat with her about the history of each item as we packed. Her cherished cake plate we found in the kitchen cabinet had my name taped on the bottom, so I set it aside to take home.

A sense of accomplishment filled the room as I finally sat of the sofa beside her. I held on to each word as she told me about her childhood and how she met the love of her life, my uncle, on a farm when they were just sixteen. She talked of horses and chickens, gardens and red roses that bloomed around the back of her childhood home and how much she missed my uncle who had died many years earlier, leaving her to her memories and solitude. They had wanted children but were never “blessed” as she called it. I saw her mood change to sadness as she quickly changed the subject. I could see that her beautiful blue eyes had grown tired and sensing it was time we decided to stop where we were and start again the following day.

Mornings were filled with conversation about good times gone by and the people who shared, taught, encouraged and made her life special. The air was filled with the smell of homemade biscuits. Each bite, with her special blackberry jam sandwiched between, brought back memories of my childhood. I could picture myself sitting at her table tasting my first cup of coffee in a flowered china cup while taking bites of my biscuit. Oh, the happiness and sadness all in one moment as I reflected on good times and then realized my future without her in it.

Daily we went into each room and as she grew tired, she’d sit on the bed or in a chair as I took items to her to look over and approve to take or figure out where to re-home it. It seemed to me that each day she was more and more exhausted and in pain. I realized that we needed to hurry along and not take too much time, but she so enjoyed looking through photo albums and telling stories of each special collectable item.

It was nearing the end of the week and we only had the large mahogany desk in her spare room to finish. She had to lay propped up in the bed in order to supervise each item I brought out from the drawers. As I pulled out the top drawer filled with pencils, pens and receipts, it stuck and would not open further. I put my hand into the drawer and reaching back, pressed down on what felt like a notebook. The drawer was free to finally pull open fully and there was a little black book at the back of the drawer. It was wrapped in clear plastic and had my Aunt Marie’s name written in bold letters on the inside front page. As I pulled it from the plastic, she instructed me not to open it. She said it was only to be opened upon her death and then only by me. I placed it carefully in the box with the pencils and pens, placed it in the corner of the room and sealed it with tape. Realizing how tired she looked I decided it was time to leave. She explained that she wanted to remain in that bed for her nap since she was already lying down, so I locked the front door behind me and left for home.

So many things rolling through my mind distracted me on the way home and I nearly forgot to stop at the grocery store as I had planned. I remembered that I wanted to make her favorite cake for the next day of our visit. I baked and frosted a most beautiful red velvet cake from her recipe given to me years earlier and realized I should have done this sooner. I waited to long to visit and I could see in her face the many years that passed, and I wasn’t there for her. My life had taken me in a different direction and there was no turning back the clock or changing the path I had chosen. All I had left were my cherished memories of an elderly aunt and red velvet cake.

The day was clear and sunny as I put my cake carefully in the car for what was to be out final packing day. Thoughts of visiting her daily in her new home filled my mind as I pulled into the driveway and as I went in, I noticed that the shades were all down as I had left them the previous day. I couldn’t help but smile as I opened each curtain and shade as I was instructed on the first day and after setting my cake on the kitchen table, I walked down the hallway calling her name. There she lay on the same bed, in the same spot where she had said good bye the day before. She had finally been blessed with the one wish she so desperately wanted, to not leave her home. Smiling through my tears I told her she would always be my special aunt and how much I loved spending so much time with her. I told her that I baked her favorite cake using her recipe and how I hoped she was proud of me.

Funerals are usually so sad. I have attended a few that have been so depressing that you wonder if the family knew how to celebrate their life instead of their death. “Solemn hymns and sadness” are not what my Aunt Marie wanted as she so plainly expressed to me in the week before she died. “Celebrate my life as a life well lived” she would say. Upbeat old classic songs from her youth and laughter could be heard throughout the church as friends and family spoke of her from the platform. I remember telling someone that she would be so happy with the beautiful flowers placed all around her and the pictures carefully laid out on the tables. I thought of the days ahead when I would need to go back into the house to help other family find a home for the belongings we had so carefully boxed and then prepare the house to be sold.

I was feeling such peace as I stopped by her house on my way home from the funeral to be sure appliances were unplugged and lights were off. I did not realize that I had left on the light in the spare room and someone had left flowers on the bed. I glanced over at the box marked personal and I had circled where I had written the words “black book”. I opened the box and carefully unwrapped the plastic from the book she had said for me to open only after her death. I began to read the story of her life and how she loved her home, her husband and her family. I read how she tried new things and explored her talents and created new recipes, like her red velvet cake. She wrote how she wanted someone to love her home after she was gone and hoped that someone special would take care of it and make memories of their own there, as she did. Then I saw my name. My aunt was proud of me and the woman I had become. I was reading her letter to me telling how she desired that I would have her home. She then wrote that if I pulled out the desk, behind it I would find a note for the bank. I struggled to pull out from the wall the heavy mahogany desk. There taped to the back was a sealed white envelope that upon openining I found that she had added my name to her bank account and in it would be 20 thousand dollars to spend any way I desired. I laughed as I read further that she was so happy that I had mastered her red velvet cake recipe and that I was the only one in the family who could make it correctly. I slowly walked down the hallway in tears, into my kitchen. I placed the notebook on the table, sat down and sliced a piece of cake.