Mom, Apple Pie, and Angels

At my mother’s bedside yesterday, knowing that she only has days, if not hours, to live, I held her hand and whispered in her ear: “It’s OK to put on your angel wings and soar.”

But moving beyond this life seems to be a quietly hesitant passage for her. She has led such a full life, that I think she may still feel the need to do a little more caring for those of us she is leaving behind.

My sister made dinner in her honor last night. It was a savory blanket of comfort food that wrapped us all up in its warmth. It was simple, but so worthy of second helpings. Roast pork tenderloin rubbed in salt, pepper, and herbs. Redskin mashed potatoes. Gravy. Roasted mashed acorn squash with butter and a smidge of brown sugar. If Mom were able, she would have baked us her apple pie with a topping of buttery brown sugar and walnut topping. We would have peeled and sliced the apples while she tossed together the dough and rolled it to fit the pie pan.

I promise to share Mom’s Apple Pie soon. But in the meantime, as snow blankets most of this country, can you do me a favor? Go outside—by yourself or with your family or friends—and make snow angels for my mother. I think she needs those angels to gently accompany her as she takes to the heavens with her own wings.

Then fling some snow, marvel at life, hold tight to your family and friends, add a splash of Bailey’s to your hot chocolate, and fix comfort food tonight.

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