Story one

There is no need for this story to be linear, because grief is not so conveniently linear as our simple lives. 

It's been 1,061 days since my mom died. 2 years and 11 months. 

I was reminded of her tonight and an unpleasant task. 

In my 8th grade year, I was once again homeschooled and, with my brother at college, and my dad at work, she and I had our own routine. Every day at lunch we would cook what she called "egg drop soup." It was so far off the actual egg drop soup that the first time at a traditional restaurant, I ordered it and was vastly disappointed, because it wasn't my mom's. 

I don't know where she got the recipe, but regardless, we made it every day, and it was my job to sort through the pillow case sized bag of spinach from Costco. She liked/needed to save money, so she bought the  "value" sized bag of spinach, which was more than a family of four could probably eat in a month.      

It was my job to sort through the slimly, mostly rotten, long-stemmed pieces of spinach and pinch off the stems, throw out the slimy ones and throw the good ones in the boiling pot of water. I HATED it, but I LOVED her version of egg drop soup. 

My mom could make soups that were out of this world. With her creativity and ability to use what she had, she made the most delicious and unreplicable soups. My dad had this had this habit of ooing and awing and asking what the recipe was and she'd just shrug and say, "I don't know, but you'll never have it again." My dad was an annoying planner and this was her way of saying, "Live in the goddam moment, Joe, most good things can't be replicated, just enjoyed as they are." 

We had hundreds of versions of her egg drop soup over the years, none the same, but all good, and I learned to make my own the way I liked it, which I can't even replicate it myself. 

Though I am divorced now, the kindest act of love my ex-husband (who wasn't a chef, or even a cook), ever exhibited was, the night we all came back from the hospital from saying goodbye to my mom's body, was he. completely unprompted, made us all my mom's egg drop soup. It was horrible and nothing like hers, but the love he showed; that he knew the recipe from heart from 10 years of me teaching it to, and making it for, him, his sweet heart knew it was the thing to do. It was a moment of sincere love in the midst of tragedy, bringing my mom and her healing soup to us all, that will never be forgotten. 

I know she would hate this, but mom, every time I sort through my slimy spinach because I refuse to waste it, I think of you.