Some thoughts and moments from my Memorial Day weekend visit.
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"Your father doesn't know how to do it right." She stood slowly. "Help me."
"Where are you going?"
"To the kitchen, turn the lights on."
My father had left to pick up some ingredients for the sauteed tofu dish, and a block of tofu was left on the cutting board to dry.
"He doesn't know how to do it, so I'll just get it started. A person needs to cook every once in a while or they'll just have no idea. I'll make it delicious. For you. A mother should be able to make her son's favorite dish."
She held onto her IV pole with her left hand, and I hooked my arm beneath her right armpit to steady her as she shuffled to kitchen. Every few feet she paused to catch breath with an audible whew.
"You need to prop me up. I can't stand by myself." She leaned against the counter and picked up the chef's knife.
"What are you doing?"
"Just making it right. He doesn't know." With an unsteady hand she sliced into the block. "You see? Like this. Like this."
The knife plunged into the soft whiteness forming uneven slices. "It's supposed to be even." She paused. "I'm too weak to hold a knife." As her strength flagged further, each new slice was larger than the previous.
"Keep me up, keep me up. I'm too weak."
My eyes welled with tears and the knife appeared to shake as she processed the block.
"This helps it dry... I...I need to sit." She placed the knife down. "Help me...help me get to the couch."
Before she reached for her IV pole, my mother saw a tear fall from my chin onto the cut tofu. "Stop that...they'll never dry if you do that." She turned away from me, and wiped away her own tears.
