Soup. Chicken noodle soup to be exact. Although, we call it Memere’s soup. It’s a traditional blend of ingredients that we became accustomed to love and feel comforted by.
My grandmother made it. My mother made it. Now, I make it.
Anytime we needed a warm cup of comfort or heartfelt healing, my mother would make this soup. Now that she is gone, I make it. When I feel overcome by grief and the ache of her absence, I venture to the kitchen. I find a pot, pull the ingredients from the pantry, and make her beloved chicken noodle soup.
There is comfort in these simple ingredients. There is comfort in the tradition of this recipe.
It’s only soup, but there is love.
It’s only soup, but there are memories that pour from that pot.
It may look like rice and noodles, but really, it’s little pieces of soothing solace. A little taste of tradition. A little reminder of hope. The smell, the taste, the experience, bring me back to my mother’s kitchen. A place filled with so much goodness. Goodness for your heart, as much as your belly.
This bowl of soup gives my grief a tasty flavor of love, and hope, and joy.
It tastes like chicken broth, but feels like home.
It feels like a hug from heaven or a sweet mother’s kiss.
When life is lost, and there are no new hugs or kisses or moments, sometimes rice, noodles, and chicken broth look like soup, but feel like love.
This soup feels like love, and it’s a blessing.
A thirty-something wife, mother and educator who has Indiana roots and a passionate spirit. Chelsea is a sappy romantic, coffee junkie, book collector, and person who wears her heart on her sleeve. She’s sarcastic, full of jokes, full of tears, and enjoys writing most when life gets messy or complicated. In 2017, Chelsea's mother passed away. Through her grief journey, she decided to take her mother’s advice and share her writing with the world. One day she gained the courage to honor her mother's wishes and write. It turned out to be one of the best decisions she's ever made.