Cooking With Love

The tomato sauce splattered Nadia’s hand causing her to flinch back before reaching again to turn off the burner. She licked the sauce from her hand before stirring the meatballs. She waits for the pasta to finish, feeling the hot, humid vapors on her face. She stares at the vigorous cloud of steam daydreaming of her earliest memory. 

Could I please have an egg on avocado toast, a cappuccino and a cookie for dessert? Her mother playfully asked her. “I don’t have avocado. Here is some soup and a steak and a cookie instead” 3 year old Nadia confidently replied.

Nadia turns off the back burner and removes the pasta pot from the heat. She places the strainer in the sink and dumps the steaming pasta in, allowing the steam to hit her face. Tears begin to stream down her cheeks as one more memory ambushes her. The sound of her mothers laughter rings in her ears like it was really happening. The image of her laughing hysterically as the thick pasta steam fogs up her glasses leaving her unable to see anything at all. She uses a finger to swish like a windshield wiper across her lenses so she could make out the bowls and forks for the pasta dinner. Nadia giggles at her mothers silliness. Mama carries the bowls to the dinner table and calls for Nadia and her brother to come eat. 

It has been a rough few months since Nadia lost her mama. The pain in her heart has only gotten worse though, despite everyone telling her “it will get better with time”.  As she went on to continue hitting milestones and her mother missing all of them would only make the pain worse, like adding salt to the wound…and then lemon juice, tomato juice, battery acid. Nadia places the pasta and sauce in 3 bowls and sets them on the table. Her brother and father sit to eat in silence, as they too feel the horrific and heavy ache of mama’s playful energy, missing from the atmosphere. 

Nadia sits and takes a bite of her dinner. The bitter taste of the sauce hitting her tongue like a smack but the blow softened by the sweetness. Memories flood her when she cooks, when she eats, when she smells certain foods. Food and cooking was something she did a lot with her mama and every happy memory seems to bombard her with every meal. Cooking was mama’s love language and she passed that on to her only daughter. They cooked together from the play kitchen when Nadia was 3, to the actual kitchen when Nadia was 8 and now she is still in the kitchen without her mama. Mama taught Nadia how to cook pasta and how to offset the bitter taste of the tomatoes with a tiny bit of fennel, Nadia’s secret ingredient. An ache hits Nadia in the stomach feeling like a punch of air that never retracts from her gut. “I’m gonna go lie down” she tells dad and brother. She slowly walks up the stairs without taking her dishes to the sink and lies face down on her bed and sobs into her pillow. How can anyone survive this much pain? How can I survive this pain? She sobs and screams and stops breathing and then breathes heavily again into her satin pillow until she falls asleep. 

The next day, Nadia goes through the motions. Muscle memory and auto pilot get her through the tasks but her mind is only on her loss. The urge to cry never leaves her throat regardless of how much she allows herself to release it. School, homework, sleep. Nadia barely eats anymore and has lost significant weight due to the stress and the nausea she can’t seem to curb. Every meal brings a painful memory conditioning her to hate meal times. She sleeps too much but never has energy. Her chest constantly feels tight. Her throat constantly hurts from holding back the sobs her body craved. Her father barely looks anyone in the eye anymore and her brother absorbs himself in video games leaving Nadia to deal with her grief alone and struggling. Her teachers have become lenient on her school work knowing what she’s been through. The school counselor reached out a month after the passing but was so overworked and overscheduled she never reached out again. Nadia replays the memories of her cooking for her mama as a sign of affection and love for her and she replays the memories of all the meals her mama cooked for her as well. Chili was one of her favorites. The smell roaming the air of their home, Nadia smelling the scents all the way upstairs in her bedroom, would come running down excitedly. Food she loved cooked by the mother she loved made her feel LOVED. But now…. Nobody cooked for Nadia. The food she prepared herself was her only option but she could barely bring herself to cook anymore with the memories and flashbacks attacking her mind and causing her pain. She not only lost her mother but she lost love. She lost the one person who showed her love in the language she knew and understood. The next day after school she finished up her homework and began making dinner. Chili night, she hadn’t attempted since her mom’s passing. She placed the meat in the skillet with garlic, onion and seasoning. She added the tomatoes, sauce and beans and some more spices. It simmered for a while, the smell filling the home. She served the chili to her dad and brother and took a few bites herself. She showered and put on her favorite pj’s and went to bed. 

The next morning Nadia’s alarm went off for school but Nadia didn’t get up. Her alarm continued to blare and her brother hit the snooze button. Ten minutes later the alarm went off again but still Nadia didn’t get up. Her brother came in again this time less patiently. “Nadia get up, school.” Nothing. He shook her softly, then again harder but her lips were blue and her eyes remained closed. Horrified he ran to the phone while simultaneously screaming for his dad…

The ambulance drove away with Nadia that day. There would be an autopsy but they would find no cause of death. They would find no cause of death because there is no scientific evidence or physical signs of someone who dies of a broken heart. There is no physical sign that someone felt so alone, unloved as if a piece of them, a very significant, necessary piece was gone forever. Nadia couldn’t bear the pain of her mother, her homebase, her love both given and received, was taken from her a second longer. Now they would be together again, cooking with love and laughing somewhere on the other side.