I think the more we talk openly about the grief process the easier it might be for others who are going to walk the path, or maybe those who are currently walking it. It will also serve as a reminder to me, where I have been and what it was like to be there. There is no formula for grief. My grief looks totally different than everyone else's. My grief looks totally different today than it did yesterday. Right now, I feel as if grief has just magnified every emotion I feel. The good is really, really, good and the bad is desperation. Not because each event is really that good or really that awful, it's just magnified by the raw and worn places. I know that time will make the valleys and the mountains level out. I am grateful for that hope ( my husband is grateful for that hope :)
This morning I was looking up a recipe for an appetizer to take to a super bowl party, and as my fingers slid through the my 3x5 box it was her handwriting that caused the lump to form in my throat. I wasn't looking for oatmeal cookies, but oatmeal cookies found me.
How is it that the formation of words on a recipe card can plunge you into a world of memories? And how is it that one, three letter word can make my eyes burn, "Mom": Recipe from the kitchen of Mom. Mom spent a lot of time in the kitchen. It wasn't her favorite place to be, she much preferred the garden.
Mom's kitchen was always filled with others in mind.
Mom's kitchen was always warm, typically because the oven door was open and she warmed herself in her magic, multi-colored robe dad purchased for her ;)
Mom's kitchen welcomed all and turned away none.
Mom's kitchen opened early and closed late.
Mom's kitchen functioned as ground zero in the Hall house.
I miss the recipes from Mom's kitchen.
I miss Mom's kitchen.
I miss Mom.
~Sara
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