They say that grief eases with time. That is true. It also comes and goes. Even after 27 years I have the bad times when I just want to talk to my mom.
I started a story in my writing group a few weeks ago about her vegetable soup. I thought at the time it might evolve into an essay I could submit somewhere. It didn't.
The basis was that mom made the most amazing vegetable soup. She managed to have all kinds of different vegetables in there but I don't remember her buying all that stuff. It would have taken small quantities of such a wide variety of things: corn, green beans, okra, tomatoes, peas, carrots, celery, onion, and more. As I was writing I started wondering how she did that.
So I think, perhaps, she had a plastic container in the freezer and kept adding our leftovers to that until there was enough. Then she made a pot roast and whatever was left from that was the basis for the vegetable soup.
Then I started thinking how vegetable soup kind of signified our lives. Mom was raising two girls and often working two jobs. Our home was always immaculate if small. The furniture wasn't new but she made it shine. She scrimped and used up and made do with whatever she could.
Somehow it all came together to make a home.
Thanks Mom. I miss you.