Comfort Food

Yesterday, I was walking around the house with a little black cloud raining emotions all over me. The diagnosis of cancer could be very real and I settled down in my recliner with the ominous thoughts reeling in my head. Oddly, I don't feel like the diagnosis will be cancer, but I know the doctor wouldn't say it if it wasn't a possibility.

What a way to wake up. A negative phone call to start the day. As I lifted myself from the warmth and comfort of my bed, I wanted to shuffle down the hallway and find my mother's loving hug to comfort me as I confessed the news to her. Mom has been gone now for five years now and I knew she wouldn't be there that morning. That didn't mean I didn't want to wake up to her warm smile and loving hug that morning.

I know that my mother wouldn't be there to give me a hug so I slipped one of her nightgowns on and felt her warmth fall over my shoulders. As I took a deep breath, the comfort imbued in the white cotton gown wrapped me in her hug. I smiled and I could feel her loving arms around me.

The silence was so real. Yet, I had to keep moving forward and start the day and made my way downstairs. I entered the dinning room and stood at the table and looked around the room at the parts of her that still remains there. No, we haven't packed her things up and replace them with our own. Oddly, they still bring me comfort for they represent the beauty she held inside her. As I walked by her chair, I pat the wooden frame and smile. Oh how I wished I could hear her bid me a good morning through the silence.

I remember the days where I woke to the smell of coffee percolating on the stove top. Most of the time, that smell would alert me to start my day and I would meander my way down the stairs. The smell was different than the smell the coffee makers produce today. The stout liquid even taste different than that of the machine. With a smile, I wandered to the cabinet and pulled out the percolator and began to prepare the coffee that would bring me comfort. I needed that memory that I attached to my mother's coffee.

As the percolator begins the process, I know I have a lot of time before I will enjoy a warm cup of coffee. With a deep breath, I acknowledge my stomach. I have to eat but I just didn't want the traditional bowl of oatmeal or eggs. I needed comfort and thought, "What do I eat this morning?" With a smile, I turned to my freezer for an unusual breakfast mom use to serve to me. Frozen inside the fridge is four slices of apple pie preserved from Christmas. Yes, that's exactly what I needed this morning. I instantly pulled a piece out and placed it to warm in the air fryer. The whir of the machine began to meld with the sizzling water in the tin on the stove.

Soon, the air filled with the two smells I loved most when I was growing up. When mom divorced my father, she had done many odd jobs for money. One of her odd jobs was backing pies for a diner downtown. Every morning she was up and baking about six pies for that day. The sixth one, was for her family. Many mornings, that was our breakfast and I loved it. Us kids would settle down at the table with a slice of pie and a cup of coffee. This morning, I was determined to have the same meal she provided for us back in the day.

As I poured the black liquid into my cup the smell lofted up and I took in the vapors and let them settle into a happy place in my mind. Cream and sugar was added and I carefully carry the cup to place it in front of her chair. "Good morning mom." and I turned to prepare my meal. The pie emerged all warm and goopy from the oven and I placed it on the plate. I reached for my favorite cup and added the hot liquid to it and dressed it up to my liking.

As I carried the treats to the table, I paused, turned around and walked back into the kitchen. I placed the treats back on the countertop and retrieved a knife from the drawer. A moment later, a small slice of apple pie was placed on another dish for mom. With a smile, I walked the little slice to the table and placed it with her cup of coffee. With a pat of the chair, I went to retrieve my breakfast and carried to my spot at the table.

With tears in my eyes I stopped to say, "Good morning mom. I remember the days when I woke to a piece of pie. Thank you for providing me with your healing food as I recovered. I am sorry I was such a hard child to raise. My times with drugs and anorexia must have been very hard on you. Even then, you knew what I would eat when I really didn't want to. Thank you for your love and care. I don't know if I would have recovered if it weren't for you. Once again, I don't want to eat but I know I have to."

With a lump in my throat, I did my best to consume the sweetness before me. I rambled on in between bites about the news from the doctor. I spoke to her of my fear but I assured her that she raised a tough daughter and I too will make it through this. The salt of my tears lingered on my lips at times and melded with the sweetness of the coffee and pie. I would look over to her chair and I could feel her there and I swear I could see her and her concern as I battled to swallow around the lump in my throat.

Mom was raised in the depression era. Many of our comfort foods were born during that era. I filled my day with comfort foods. Tuna and butter noodles was made and served to mom for lunch. Tomatoes and macaroni noodles and grilled cheese sandwiches was our dinner. Each meal, was nothing but comfort foods and I rambled on to my mother as we ate. As I ate, the depression the morning news brought began to lessen in my soul with each meal I ate with mom.

Mom loved Red Rose Tea, and I ended our day together over a hot steaming cup with a heaping scoop of honey to sweeten it. As I sat down in my spot, I lingered in the moment I spent with my mother. I rose from the table and walked into the kitchen and prepared to retire the spirit plate outside. As I looked at the plate with all the food placed upon it, I gave thanks as I carried it outdoors and placed it near the bird feeder. As I sat down in the recliner, an cardinal landed near the plate to assess the treat. Mom's favorite bird was the cardinal. I looked over to her spot on the couch, raised my cup and tea, and said, "Thank you for being here for me mom. I really miss you. Cheers!"