Taste Home

It was just a simple magazine -- an old copy of a cooking magazine called Taste of Home.  But the mere sight of it brought me to tears.

It must have been well over two years (ugh) since I last sorted my 'saved magazine' collection in the three-tiered basket bin of my family room.  Today I finally got to it.  A menial, unmemorable task to take care of -- until I stumbled upon that magazine.  

It was my mom's.  I remembered the day she let me borrow it.  I had stopped over for a visit and browsed the magazine as we sat and chatted.  She was fighting a nasty cough that wouldn't go away -- but as always, she was more interested in hearing about my family than talking about herself.  So as we talked, I turned the pages and a recipe in the magazine caught my eye as a contender for dinner later that night.  "Go ahead -- take it home with ya Cin.  I could use one less magazine here anyway," she said with her signature giggle.  Ok Mom, I will," was my reply.  "But it's brand-new so I'll bring it back -- I just want this one recipe."

Two years later, there it was -- still in my bin.  Yet another piece of unfinished business with my mom.  The symbolism brought me to tears.  So much had transpired since that visit two years ago.  The cough, we would soon find out, was a result of cancer in her lungs that all too quickly would take her life.  She too left unfinished business of her own: to see all her grandchildren graduate from high school or perhaps one day dance at their wedding or hold each and every great grandchild.

In my sorrow, I picked it up and clung to it, closing my eyes to relive the ordinary, yet precious visit I had that day with my mom.  Those simple moments are what I miss the most.  I think they're what we all miss the most when we have to say goodbye to those we love -- whether through death, divorce, growing up, or moving away.  The sound of their laughter. The look in their eyes when their face wears a smile.  The scent of their perfume, cologne or freshly laundered clothes.  The warm embrace of their hugs.  The sound of their little -- or big -- steps shuffling across the floor.  The aroma of their home-made sugar cookies baking in the oven.  The taste of summer potato salad or Thanksgiving stuffing like only moms can make.  That one-of-a-kind taste of home.

I praise God for turning my mundane task of sorting magazines into a mother and child reunion. He gently reminds me that when the absence of her seems too great to bear, I can merely close my eyes and she comes back to me.  In the past year since she's been gone, doing that has comforted me greatly.  God just seems to magnify my five senses of sight, sound, smell, touch, and taste to make the experience so real. 

Now, understandably, if you've never lost someone close, you may think this is a nutty thing to do (and maybe think that I'm even nuttier.)  But if you have -- and regrettably, we all come to that point where we have -- well, then you know just how powerful closing your eyes to relive memories can be.  I'm confident it's God's way of keeping special people with us forever so that we can always....taste home.

I love you Mom.  And I miss you lots.

-- Cindy