Breakfast with Mom
My mother’s favorite meal of the day was breakfast. Every day for the last ten years of her life,
she’s had eggs and bacon, toast and coffee.
Mid-morning snack was always Cheerios with lots of sugar. The most sensual food experience—bar none--has
to be buttered toast swirled in a golden yolk. There’s a luxuriousness to the fats—butter blending
with the curd like yolk—that lights up the taste buds and the brain. I
learned this pleasure from my mother, who ate her eggs this way, though her
buttoned-down Midwestern sensibility would never allow her to cop to the sheer decadence
of the act.
Oh, but she loved it.
Nearly every morning for the last two years, I called mom
during breakfast at the long term care facility where she’s been living on
hospice, essentially waiting to die. “What’s
for breakfast?” I’d ask, as a way of making conversation. In the last year especially, mom’s ability to
find words and to speak clearly has been impaired by a series of strokes and
increasing weakness caused by a giant brain aneurysm. When she couldn’t find the words, I’d fill
them in. “Eggs?” I’d ask, “And what
else?” There would be toast and bacon
and cheerios or pancakes or French toast---and she’d eat it all. My mother was
the happiest in these moments, calling out “Hi, Sweetie” while eating familiar
food that pleased her.
Her medical condition had caused enough dementia that she
existed in a kind of pleasantly confused present. She didn’t complain, except to wonder when
her next meal would be. “I’m still hungry,” she’d say and I would
promise to bring her cupcakes or remind her that I’d just left some near her
bed.
Next to breakfast, it was sugar for my mom. In her last weeks, she wasn’t interested even
in that: it was too hard to swallow. And so I began bringing Pepsi.
By the time mom could only assent to a bit of Pepsi sipped
through a straw, I knew we had finally arrived at the end of long long
road.
I’ve had a long time to prepare for my mother’s passing. Still, the end was a shock. A familiar part of my life and daily routine
is gone: My mom and I no longer share
breakfast together.
So, instead, I fry two egg sunny side up, in a pan of
bubbling butter, sprinkling them with salt and cracked pepper. Then I lay a piece of toast thick with butter
and poke the yolks gently until they release onto the plate. I use the bread to soak up yolk and egg and think
of mom.
She would love it.
Stimulating nostalgic routines to awaken your mother's memory is very sweet. Although I'm sure not a day has gone by that you've forgotten about her. Also, your mother looks lovely, Karen. I can see where you got your charm from. Anyway, thanks for sharing such a heartwarming story! I wish you all the best!
ReplyDeleteNormand Redden @ The Perfect Home Care
Thank you, Normand, for taking the time to read and reply--and the kind words. The are many foods that remind me of mom; when I want to think of her, I make and eat them: Eggs, potato chips, cupcakes. Eating is communion.
ReplyDeleteI remember reading this last year, and enjoyed it again via your link in today's meditation on burgers. I loved dipping toast in my egg, but didn't learn about it until I hit single life in Steamboat Springs and the "morning after" breakfasts at the Cameo Restaurant. Great memories. Thanks for the photos of your mom, too. My mom died suddenly of a heart attack at work, and it pains me to this day that I was nowhere near her, literally, so that she didn't die alone.
ReplyDelete