The other day I bought 5 lbs. of frozen, raw sardines at the Asian market. They were on sale, and I thought I would buy them and cook them for my 87-year old mother.
I recently started cooking meals for my mother and stepfather. Now advanced in age, my Mama has some health issues that make it hard for her to function "normally", and I figured that providing their meals is a good way for me to help them out.
I have written before that feeding people is my love language. This is true. Cooking for others brings me so much joy.
And there is nothing about cooking that scares me.
Never cooked sardines before? No matter. I always figure these things out.
As I drove home from the market, I realized that I would have to clean 5 lbs. of fish. Have you any idea how many sardines make up 5 lbs.? At least 60.
The last time I had properly cleaned a fish was easily 30+ years ago when I was a teenager in the Philippines. After immigrating to the U.S., we quickly learned, with some glee, that fish is sold here already cleaned. Already portioned, even. And if it wasn't, you could ask to have it cleaned and even filleted.
This was not the case with this box of sardines I purchased. These were flash frozen and shipped directly to the U.S. A product of India. The fish still had heads and scales... and I guessed, gills and guts.
Thank the Lord for YouTube and the fish-cleaning refresher!
The next day, I set out to clean 20 fish. After all, this is a new recipe I am trying (Spanish sardines, which my mother is quite fond of). No point in cooking them all on the first try.
It wasn't bad. I was wearing gloves, and my knife and kitchen shears were sharp and more than adequate for the job at hand.
I was reminded that scaling fish was messy and time-consuming, but again, it was not hard.
A few minutes later, I felt a presence by my elbow. It was my younger daughter, checking in on what I was doing.
"Oooohhh, can I help?" she asked excitedly.
Yes! She can do this part. I have other ingredients to prep.
I asked her to wash her hands, and after showing her how to scale the little fish, she quickly took over.
I then chopped and measured and threw things in a pot while she finished cleaning the fish.
Soon, everything was in the pressure cooker, and 12 minutes later, the Spanish sardines were cooked.
We tried it, even piping hot, and determined that it needed more seasoning. So I made some adjustments.
Before long, we declared it perfect, and I transferred it all into a container for my parents.
Why do I write about this here?
How is this relevant to my grief journey? To surviving loss? To living a life of intentionality?
Look. My mother is 87. In her twilight years. Her health is declining.
There will be a day in the not-too-distant future when she will cease to walk this earth. Cease to breathe the air we breathe.
Really, I do not want to think about this, but this is fact.
I am bracing myself for the loss. The heartache. Her terrible absence from our lives.
So I am choosing to love her as well as I can while she is still with us. And my stepfather, too, who has been the closest thing to a real father that I have ever had.
Why wait for some day in the future to look back and regret the things that were not said, not done?
I did not have the luxury of knowing that Mike was going to die when I dropped him off at the ER. That the last time I saw him would be the last. His last words to me, the last. Or mine to him.
Truly, I do not have a lot of regrets where he is concerned because I know that we loved each other well.
But I do have some: our last argument (about meatloaf, of all things), my attitude when I forced him to go to the ER at 3:30 in the morning (snippy and unsympathetic, even as I was trying to be kind, mostly because of his stubbornness).
I have become hyper-aware of the things I say and the things I do around the people I love.
I am not saying that I am kind all the time. Or even patient. Or selfless.
But more often than not, I try to be these things. I try to be a little more generous with my time and energy, even as I conserve plenty for my own sanity, so I have learned to prioritize the things that are most impactful.
Do you know that airplane safety spiel?
"In the unlikely event of a sudden loss of cabin pressure, oxygen masks will drop down from the panel above your head.... Secure your mask before helping others...."
Nothing in the world has taught me more about "securing [my] mask before helping others" than dealing with grief and loss. Especially in light of parenting my own grieving children.
It is essential for me to take care of myself to care for others.
So yes, even as I look after my own health and sanity, I am doing my best to be the kindest version of myself for my people.
I try to tell them that I love them through my actions.
I re-learn how to clean a whole mess of fish so that I can make Spanish sardines for my Mama. Because she cannot make them for herself anymore.
And dammit, I want her to know that I can do this for her.
As for my daughter, she helps me in this task without asking why. Because at 12, she understands how precious our time with our loved ones is. And sadly, she can read the tea leaves where her beloved grandmother is concerned.
Also? She knows that her mother loves others through her cooking.
If anything beautiful has come out of grieving for me, it is this: the mindfulness to be fully present with those I love. To grab at the opportunities to let them know they are loved while we are still in each other's company.
And really, isn't this what God has always desired for us? To love as we have been loved?
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