My eyes are still damp. You made me cry with that statement, "It was, and is, the same litany that every mother repeats to herself as the children outgrow their childhood: How can you leave me? How can I let you go? Why are you in such a hurry to depart, when we have so little time left together – and that so fleeting? And most of all, Who will I be when you’re gone?" I mean, put my arms on the table, lay my head down on them, and just cried. My 72nd birthday is coming up in a couple of months and I've been remembering my mother's culinary expertise at some things, too. And how I have improved my cooking skills. As I have aged, I have, and still am, trying to make things for my children to remember me by. First there was the needlework, and now it is the recipes. I have used scrapbooking techniques to make pretty, cute, and sometimes funny cards with my own recipes on them, or those of cherished friends and family members, and especially my beloved grandmother's. I've made those for so many years that I loved the old recipe cards to death. My new cards have been printed and laminated, and uploaded in digital format for my kids and perhaps the someday efforts of my still-very young grandchildren. So why did you make me cry so copiously? Because of the memories, and because I miss having my kids around to cook for, and I am terrified of the time coming with I can no longer cook. There's just my hubby and me, living in our retirement home in Florida, and although he loves for me to experiment with new recipes, I miss the old family favorites made in large batches and often shared with friends and neighbors. We are suffering the slings and arrows of our age, my dear husband and I; he has this year, in a three month span, had to have a triple bypass and brain surgery. I have my difficulties physically, too, but cooking is the one thing I never want to have to stop doing. It is my one constant in the past, present, and future, and the one area where I express myself every single day. It is how I show I care to those I care about; my dearest husband of 48 years and my sweet neighbors. I have recently learned that I will slowly lose my eyesight over the coming months. If I can no longer cook, who am I? I don't know, and it makes me cry.

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