I made a cake yesterday.
The cake I made is one from my childhood. It was the cake I always asked for, for my birthday. A dark chocolate cake, with a warm chocolate fudge frosting. It was the recipe of a friend of my mother, and it was she who made it for me, every year. Her name was Jackie.
Jackie passed away in 1988 from cancer. She was 48. She was a good person, with a big heart.
She always wore beautiful make-up, and had pretty clothes. My own mother never wore make-up, and I was fascinated with Jackie's. Jackie didn't have a daughter, and I always thought she should have had one.
Every few weeks Jackie would bring a gallon size Ziploc bag to our house, *full* of make-up that she'd barely used. She was always buying something new. The bag was full of the best; Lancome, Estee Lauder, Dior and the like. It was like a treasure, and my sister and I loved and used it.
Jackie never had a sister, either, and she called my mother "sissy". They were friends for many, many years.
The day Jackie died, I walked into her hospital room to say "good-bye". She was laboring to breathe, and couldn't speak, but for a fleeting moment she looked me straight in the eye, and I swear I heard her say, "I love you". She passed away not long after. I have often wondered if I imagined her words.
I think of her whenever I make her cake.