You always liked making pies. You were good at it. Really good. You measured and mixed, rolled and folded, filled and crimped. Apple. Berry. Peach. Apricot. Cherry. Pumpkin. Coconut Cream. Chocolate. Lemon Meringue. And more. Into the oven and out. We waited eagerly for our first slice. You served it with a smile, and we all smiled back. Your pies were simply the best. Ask anyone who knows.
I see you still. You stand at the counter making pies, your hands dusted with flour. You dot dabs of butter on the crust and sprinkle with cinnamon and sugar. You place in oven and soon the aroma of pies wafts through the house. Sweet memories! Why do my eyes mist?
Today you're 84, and your pie baking days are over. When we packed up your kitchen I carefully wrapped up your Pyrex pie dishes. I gave some away. I brought some home. I kept your wooden rolling pin and gave your marble one to Josh, who gave it to you when he was 5.
I've been thinking that life is like pie. It goes so fast and tastes so good and is gone much too soon. Have you ever noticed how fast pie goes? Even 8-10 pieces? Daddy told me time flies. He was right.
You need the right ingredients, and how you mix it matters. Too much of this, too little of that, and you have tough crust or tart filling. The rhyme, "Girls are made of sugar and spice and everything nice" fit you from the beginning. Your life has been filled with "nice" for as along as I can remember. You took the ingredients you were given 84 years ago, and mixed them with the flavors of all the years that followed, and made a beautiful life. Even now, in the confusion of your mind, you graciously smile and sweetly declare, "I love you."
Mom, when you baked pies, I remember how my mouth watered as I anticipated the first bite. I'd lick my lips and wait with expectation. That first piece, so tasty! I was eager for the next, and not disappointed. You'd usually cut a pie into 8-10 slices and serve it on your China, sometimes warm, with a dollop of vanilla ice cream (I'm getting hungry thinking about it).
84 years! 8.4 slices so far, each worth 10 years.There's nothing like the first slice.
First slice. Filled with the delight and exuberance of childhood. There's an impish picture of you at 2. I wonder who took the photo? Probably your doting Daddy or your adoring Mother. It's apparent you relished that first slice of life, eagerly devouring each bite as you shared the pie with your two brothers. This slice still brings smiles.
Second slice. School and friends. Church and baptism. Cooking. Sewing. High school dates and graduation. Commitment and Covenant. Welcoming a soldier home from War. You married Daddy at 18 and a year later had your first child, a son. This slice, still fresh and warm.
Third slice. Second son, first daughter (me!), third son, and a driver's license. You took us to swimming lessons even though you disliked water except in a tub. You canned dozens of jars of applesauce and peaches and pears and dreamed of finishing the nursing degree you started during your second slice of life. You sewed my dresses and braided my hair. You and Daddy bought a tent trailer, a step up in our camping expeditions. Trips to the Redwoods and even one to Canada. You kissed hurts and mended hearts and loved us well. This slice tastes good!
Fourth slice. Another daughter with the first bite and daughter-in law with the last. Nursing school for you. Yours and your kids' graduations. Welcoming friends and feeding us all--often pie! Good years, they were. Yum! This slice is full of flavor!
Fifth slice. Seasoned with weddings of children and sprinkled with grandchildren. Working as an R.N. Moving children out and parents in. Burying a father-in-law and caring for a Mother-in-law. Relishing family and anticipating the next piece of pie. This slice still delicious.
Sixth slice. More grandchildren. Travel near and abroad to hug them all. Still working. Burying your Mother. Moving in your Father. Still dreaming and scheming. This slice is going fast!
Seventh slice. You're retired! Motor home trips. Move to Tillamook. Designing and decorating a new home. New friends and neighbors. Building a new life, and you did it well. Volunteering at the hospital. Small group study. Moving your Daddy--my Grandpa-- to a nursing home. Delighting in visits with your children and grandchildren. Celebrating another decade of birthdays. Sharing the sweetness of this slice with Daddy.
Eighth slice. Enjoying your home on the hill with Daddy, planning, planting. Great-Grandchildren arrive. Publisher's Clearinghouse and scams. Resting in the comfort of each other (There's not many slices left).
Ninth slice. You're eating it now. It's getting old. The flavor is different. It doesn't taste like the first slice, or the second, or any of the rest. Daddy died. We helped you move to Adult Foster Care. And now, into a skilled nursing facility. You're in pain. You have a hard time walking, or even getting up. You wear a bib when you eat, and someone else serves you. You need help dressing. Your new friends sit beside you in their wheelchairs as you sit in yours--- momentary friends, as you are for them. You find comfort in their presence. When I walk in, you smile and reach for my hand. You don't remember the name you gave me. but you know we belong. You don't remember the flavors of the other slices that we thought you'd never forget. This slice is flavored with tears, yet sprinkled with smiles.
How many slices left? I'm not sure, but it seems as though the last is going quickly. It's hard to take the final bite. We want to savor every crumb and lick the dish and get all of you we can. There is something of YOU that your children cling to and don't want to let go. We want to touch your parchment skin and hold your hand, because you have held our hearts. We still catch the flavor, the essence of YOU, our special and beloved mother. We hope your day is happy.
There's another pie coming. It's called Heavenly. Lick your lips. The best is yet to be.
Your daughter
Sue xoxo
(Pictures coming of the slices of Mom's life......)
