Loradean was ninety-three when she confided her fear of dying. "I'm at peace with God, but I'm worried about how it will happen. Will I know I'm dying? Will it hurt?"
I gently patted the paper-thin skin on the back of her hand. As her full-time, live-in caregiver, it was my job to bring comfort, if I could. My assurances seemed to fall short. I prayed God would encourage her.
A few weeks later, I was doing some chores while Loradean napped when I heard her mumbling. I went quickly to her bedside. "What do you need, Loradean?"
Her eyes were closed. She held her hands up before her as if she was receiving something. She mumbled again and finally got out the phrase, "take this cake."
"Do you have a cake, Loradean?" I asked.
"Yes,” she said with her eyes still closed. “Will you take it to the kitchen?" A childish smile spread across her face.
I made motions as if I were taking the offered cake and walked out the bedroom door and right back to her bedside.
Her face was alight with the most peaceful smile. She opened her eyes and looked sweetly at me, "Isn't that the most beautiful cake? White cake with white icing!" She closed her eyes again, folded her hands and smiled.
Puzzled I said, "Loradean, where did you get that beautiful cake?"
"A tall, white man in white clothes gave it to me. Isn't it the most beautiful cake?"
"It's lovely," I said. "Would you like a piece for lunch?"
Loradean licked her lips and grinned, "Oh, yes I would!" Her eyes shone with the joy of a three-year-old being handed a birthday cake.
"Loradean, do you think an angel brought you that cake?"
She chuckled, "No, a tall, white man in white clothes brought me that cake. Isn't it a beautiful cake?" Her eyelids began to droop and soon she was sleeping deeply.
I wandered thoughtfully into the kitchen and then called her daughter who was scheduled to cover that day while I took a break. I told her what had just transpired. "Will you stop by the store and buy a piece of white cake with white icing?"
"I sure will," she said, "but don't you think it's funny because Mom's favorite has always been German Chocolate Cake?”
"Today it will be white cake with white icing," I smiled.
Loradean’s daughter brought a piece of white cake with white icing and fed her mother six or seven bites before she fell asleep again. Within forty-eight hours, my patient had slipped into eternity where she was very likely met by a tall man in white clothing who serves angel cake.