Last week we talked about angels and food, how it’s something totally unnecessary to them as pure spirits, but something they recognize as not only necessary for us but also symbolic.
When my son was in the hospital a few years ago, it was a stressful time. The local hospital had decided after a consultation with their attorney that it was medically necessary to transfer Kiddo#1 to a hospital 50 miles away, so every day I was making the drive, dealing with a profoundly apathetic (not to mention incompetent) nursing staff, and doctors who only stayed fifteen seconds in the room at a time (if you could catch them at all, since they only appeared at 5AM or 1oPM.) That situation still leaves me furious years later because of how badly my son was treated.
I was at the breaking point. Kiddo#3 was five months old; Kiddo#2 was two. We were trying to keep them occupied in a small hospital room, and everything was tense.
I took the baby and went to the hospital cafeteria to pick up some coffee. On the way down, I thought to my guardian angel, “I need cheesecake.”
A thought popped into my head, and I said, “Maybe the whole cheesecake, yeah.”
A bit later, I thought, “Caramel turtle cheesecake.”
It felt as if the angel was laughing, so I added, “Chocolate cheesecake on chocolate graham cracker pie crust.”
And then something weird happened: I felt the suggestion of strawberries and cinnamon.
Now, cinnamon and strawberries don’t go together. I don’t know why — it’s like cinnamon and chocolate, both yummy separately but disgusting together.
Yet it made sense that cinnamon does well on cheesecake, and so do strawberries, and I like them both, so why not put them together and make something lovely and even more stress-relieving?
I went ahead and designed My Guardian Angel’s Wheel Of Cheesecake that he could bring to me (I knew this was fantasy, but hey, if he did it, I would not have objected. I still wouldn’t, come to think of it!) and came up with different flavors for every slice of cheesecake.
But in my heart, I kept going back to that cinnamon-strawberry cheesecake because it meant something more to me than just “Here, eat this.” It meant, “I’m worried about you,” and “I pay attention to what you like,” and even more, “I’ve never actually tasted these two things myself.”
I held onto that during the next stressful days because caught up in a system that didn’t care about my son, my family or my sanity, there was someone who cared very much about speaking to me in a language I understood.