My Mother loves to bake, it is one of the things she does best. As far back as I can remember the kitchen counter had a plate or two of cookies on it. When I recall my childhood home a sweet aroma instantly fills the air. Some would think my mouth must water with such a memory...but nay it is not my mouth that waters but my heart.
These last 19 days my Mother has not baked any cookies (that is a world record of its own!) My childhood home feels strange, silent...empty. It is as if life has walked out the door and with it the memories of my childhood seem to look up at me like a lost child.
At the hospital my Father was feeling out of sorts today. He was blue. He is afraid that he will never go home...or never go home to the lifestyle he knew and loved. My Father was not himself. It felt strange, silent and very empty not to have him as I know him...instead he was sad and as usual did not hide his feelings. It is good that he feels free to be honest and share what he is feeling. I believe honesty is healing in itself. Though at this time it is hard to bear witness to it and not be able to change anything about it.
When my Mother bakes cookies she did it without thinking, certainly like prayer, it was her therapy. She would wake up early, and before going to morning Mass she would crack the eggs, cream the butter with the sugar, add the vanilla...with the recipe in her head. My Mother's hands steady and swift made cookies for those she loved, for those who would come to visit, for those who needed cheering up, for those at the rest home, for the neighbors and anyone who asked her for help. Yes making cookies was her way of giving communion to those of us in need.
My Father does not want to have any cookies, not even my Mother's. He does not feel like eating anything because it hurts to eat. My Mother does what she can by tempting him with her love for baking. But he turns a blind eye to her begging him to eat, and then feels sorry for my Mother, and then feels sad that he has made her sad. Though both of them know the reason he does not feel like eating, doesn't have anything to do with her baking or love, or his not wanting her to bake him anything. It is this reality that stings the most...life is changing, their relationship is changing and change is not always easy.
The art of healing, the art of baking cookies, the art of praying, the art of living...
My Mother hasn't baked anything. My Father remains in the hospital, and ever lasting love is what is baking and healing us in this rite of passage called life.
