Cake

By Yasmiin Ahmed

Something happened recently that has given me a whole new perspective on life. Something I would have never imagined would ever happen.

I won't go into the dreadful details, but suffice it to say that my eyes have been widely opened. A "rebirth" if you will.

If you looked up (reborn) online I am sure you would see my face.

Words have great potential. They can devastate or impower. Motivate or assassinate. They can cut like a knife through our very soul, emotionally eviscerating us.
Words can bring a grown man to his knees and pierce the heart of a loving mother.

Once I baked a cake. I baked it from scratch. I had no idea what I was doing and I had no one to ask for help. There I was pouring and mixing and stirring. Adding a pinch of this and a teaspoon of that. It was chaos at times. Finally it was ready. Slowly I poured it into the pan. Did I grease it properly? I cannot remember. Hopefully, it will turn out alright. Only time will tell.

I checked it frequently. Peering through the oven glass. Finally, it began to rise. Slowly and deliberately. Tiptoeing around not wanting to disturb it. I wondered if it would turn out as it should. As I hoped it would.

The noise of the timer brought me running into the kitchen. I realized then that I hadn't checked on it for a while. Panic set in. I was afraid to open the oven door. What will I see? One thing for sure, I will never know until I find the courage to look.

Cautiously I opened the door. There it was in all its glory. It was just as I anticpated. I had done it. I had baked my cake and it was perfect.

Believe it or not, many of you can relate to this story. You see, that cake represents my child. Caring for him as a newborn I had no idea what I was doing. I tried reading books on infant care, watching television shows, and often wondering what my own mother would have done.

I tried this method, that method, one idea after another. I was clueless. But he rose. Just as that cake had. He didn't fall.

Now here he stood. A grown man of 24. Still the same sweet cake I had so lovingly and painstakingly made. Only this version was sugar-free.

The things he said that day were never on the menu. The instructions confused me. It was as if I could not read the small print.

I had given my all and had done my very best. Could he not see that?

In spite of it all still I survive. My eyes have been opened. I have witnessed my beautiful cake become stale.

Regardless, I have not tossed it aside. For it was made with love and lovingly watched over. And though a few tears have fallen. Still I rose.

What was once my sweet dessert had surely grown stale. Yet and still I do treasured it.
Forever preserved in the warmth of a mother's love.

Yes words can hurt. They can cut deep and sever arteries.
They can cause us to bleed-out. To exsanguinate. They can leave us lying helpless on the floor as the life-blood drains steadily from us.

But alas! We will rise to finish what we started. For words though they hurt, a mother's love runs deep. So deep that it can never be completely severed. It will always be there.

Hidden. Safe.
And living just below the surface.

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