My Mom

Remember, Honor, Love

She was always Mom. Rarely mother or mama. Never ma. It was a reflection of her personality – straight forward, to the point, letting you know who she was and where you stood with her.

Mom was the foundation for the family. She was rarely the beginning or the end, but she was always in the middle of everything – right where she needed to be.

She was a big believer in predestination – that things, good or bad, happened for a reason and was all part of the greater plan. She and I disagreed on the meaning and purpose of the universe and life.

But our disagreements spurred independent thinking that she helped instill in me and I’ve carried throughout my life.

Mom also believed in people. That given enough time or support, people would do good things. But if you crossed her or hurt anyone she cared about, there was nothing in the world that would save you from her wrath.

I’ve often said she was a force of nature. Her tiny frame hid an abundance of sheer will. She could move mountains if needed. She was also deft enough to catch butterflies. She was the moment in all its beauty, glory, and when needed, fury.

She helped mold me into the person I am today, teaching me compassion for all, understanding when possible, and always thinking for myself.

She encouraged me when I studied chemistry and physics in school. She was proud of my accomplishments when I got into news and traveled the world.

Where we bonded the most was with food. My mom was a fantastic maestro in the kitchen. She made the most amazing dishes, and she readily shared her techniques with me, allowing me to help and learn from an early age.

Later in life, we would often talk about restaurants we visited or new recipes we tried. When I created my food blog several years ago, I made a point to list her as one of my primary inspirations in the culinary arts. I remember her being so happy to the point of tears when I showed her that.

But for all my training and observing and tasting and eating, there was one dish of hers I could never replicate. Her potato salad. And believe me, I ate a lot of her potato salad when I lived with her and Dad.

During a visit to their Florida home, Mom and I set out to make her potato salad together once again. I wanted her to watch me and tell me what I was doing wrong.

Mom rarely worked from a written recipe, and I am notorious for never following a recipe, so everything I did to make the potato salad was from my many memories of watching Mom make it.

This time, I did it all under the watchful eye of mom. She nodded approvingly at everything I did, making slight alterations as I went.

After mixing everything together, we tasted it. She said it was very good, but to me, it didn’t taste like when she made it. When I told her that, she just smiled at me.

“It will never taste exactly like mine, because I have a special ingredient that only I use,” she said. I was shocked. She was holding out on me!

But it was the one ingredient that she always added to everything in my life. The one ingredient I can never create. The one ingredient I will never forget and miss the most about her.

A mother’s love for her son.