The Exploding Birthday Cake

When I was 38, Drew started talking about my 40th birthday like it was right around the corner. He was full of ideas fun, wild ones that usually had a way of materializing and this time was no different.

He’d grin and say, “You’re 40 and we’re going to have a big, big, big party!” Two years early, he was already planning it out. His focus was always on two things: cake and milkshakes. He knew I couldn’t have milkshakes, but he promised he’d find one I could enjoy. Everyone else, of course, would have the best milkshakes ever, because, as he reminded me, “that’s mine and his Dad’s favourite.”

By the time I turned 39, Drew’s vision had sharpened: he wanted to bake a chocolate cake with vanilla icing the disguise was key, he insisted. Inside, he dreamed of hiding a balloon filled with cherries, so that when someone cut into the cake, it would explode and shower everyone in red. My only question was whether we could do it outside, to save the ceiling. Drew loved that idea.

For the next year, every time we spoke about my birthday, the exploding cake returned. We hadn’t figured out the mechanics of a true explosion, but we had settled on a chocolate cake, vanilla icing, and a dramatic flood of cherry jam. He was determined: people would be surprised. People would laugh. And the party would be unforgettable.

Looking back, it wasn’t about the cake at all. It was about the joy of imagining something outrageous, of plotting a surprise that would delight everyone. That was Drew... he made the ordinary extraordinary.

I never did get my exploding cake for my 40th. But the idea lives on. One day, I’ll bake it, maybe on my 41st, and hope that Drew is right there, laughing with me, still insisting it should have exploded!

I wish you were with us for my birthday. We all miss you, especially Raya and Rowan.

xo, Kiera