Cake For Dinner

“Can I please have a slice of the coconut cake?”

I saw it, just standing there all alone. It was the very last slice on the giant cake stand. It was just standing upright under the round clear glass cover. As if it was just waiting for someone to take it with them. And with my simple order request, the cake knife swiped that last piece of cake into the white cake box, taped up and carried to the register. I handed my card over and he handed me the cake box. It was heavy.

Some days just have to end with a giant slice of Magnolia Bakery coconut cake. And you thank your lucky stars that you are there to eat that giant piece of cake.

Maybe it’s the cancer survivor thing, maybe it’s the being a grown up thing, or maybe it’s just having a crappy Monday thing. Regardless, I know in my heart of hearts, it’s a gift to be here to indulge in it.

Lately, our cancer community has been faced with a lot of death. Amazing individuals, my dear friends, that are no longer with us. This is the part of being in “the club” that is the most painful, the most uncertain, and the most terrifying. It’s the part that leaves you with emptiness, haunts your sleep hours, and keeps you awake at night. It’s the part that evokes your survivor guilt and wish you could play a game of chance to create different outcomes.

I can honestly say that I have let death stay longer and linger in my emotional capacity of pain more than usual lately. I have not processed the last handful of deaths in my life. In fact, I am pretty sure I haven’t processed them at all. By not processing, it keeps a layer of emotional crap there at all times. And then the work stress, non-boyfriend stress, family stress, and friend stress all pile on top and seem so much more intense and real and larger than you. That non-processed death creates a stage for all of your other doubts to stand on. Thus, the other doubt voices seem louder. The other doubts start to win. And then you end up with coconut cake from Magnolia Bakery for dinner.

So… breaking down that mucky layer of emotional crap, where the death has been living, is important. I am forever grateful to be a part of an amazing, strong, and special group of cancer survivors, caregivers and advocates. And to be the best I can be for all of them, I have to talk about the death. Saying it out loud (or in this written voice) is important to acknowledge it exists. Honoring those that have passed is important; it helps you feel like you are not forgetting them, or guilty you are still here on this earth. Breathing is important, it fights against the stage of emotional crap growing. Telling the truth, that you are only human and need cake for dinner sometimes, in this case, is important to be present in the now.

The late great Dr. Mitchell Gaynor said, “Miracles are your birthright.” This has been one of my mantras since his passing earlier this fall. I want to be present for the miracles. And process the death. And eat cake for dinner.