Sunday, Rose returned home from an overnight with her Aunt Autumn exhausted and content from all the fun they'd had. Her cold was also raging. Her throat so sore she could barely speak. She attempted to eat our dinner of salad and Velveeta cheesy dinner. (It was Sunday, and the processed boxed dinner was a nice break.)
I watched her, and I offered to make her some chicken noodle soup. Not just any chicken noodle soup, the Lipton noodle soup my mom made for me when I was sick. True comfort in a mug. She resisted the offer many times, saying she'd tough it out. Finally, she gave in and asked for the soup.
I was relieved because I couldn't bear watching her try to chew another piece of lettuce dripping in ranching dressing. I know that look. It's the look I get when each bite or movement of the jaw creates a stabbing pain down my throat.
When I delivered her mug of noodles and broth, she started first on the noodles. They're so tiny they can slip down without any chewing. I insisted she drink the broth, which she first resisted. Then she grudgingly tried a small sip. She then took a longer drink, and another. She asked for more, noting the warm broth was soothing. I poured her a second mug.
The warm, comforting aroma made me smile. As I sat across from her at the table I couldn't help but be drawn back to my childhood days. I felt warmed by the memories and by knowing I was providing comfort to my daughter in the same way my mom did me. Rose climbed into bed shortly thereafter and awoke almost anew. Maybe it's magic soup.
No comments:
Post a Comment