On May 27th...the day after Moma's birthday...she slept basically all day. Waking up for a few minutes at a time when it was medicine time...I thought the day would be her last. I sat on the bed across from hers for hours all day, making sure she was breathing, staying close in case she woke up on her own. At 11PM, I woke her for scheduled meds and since she had slept from 3PM - 11PM she had missed dinner time. I asked if she were ready to eat something.
To my surprise she answered, "Yes...how about some potato salad?" She chatted a bit about how she was wanted this and how it sounded so good to her...and I fought the tears back. I hate when I don't have what she wants when she wants it. Usually I'll have Papa run and get some...but it was 11PM...I watch as disappointment crept across her face as I told her I didn't have any potato salad and then explained it would take 45 minutes probably to whip some up.
She listened and said, "Well, then, how bout potato soup." Determination swept in...either that or I could bare disappointing her again and I responded, "I think, I can do that for you, Moma. I'll go get started." I left the room, went to the kitchen and cried. Then prayed. Then stuck a potato in the microwave and set it for 10 minutes. I got out a can of cream of celery soup (bought the 25th of May, as I was picking up Moma's birthday stuff...saying to myself when I saw it, "I'll get this...I might need it to make potato soup someday." And here I was...making potato soup, crying and praying.
I poured the cream of celery soup in the pan, about 1/4 cup of water and a half can of milk, cayenne, black pepper, Ms Dash, garlic powder, onion power and started heating it up...after 10 minutes, the potato was cooked and I scooped the ever so hot contents from the skin, dropping them into the mixture...adding a dolollop of sour cream.
When it was all good and warm I took it into Moma with some crackers and fed it to her...at 11:30 PM...and she was soooooo pleased. "Oh, this is good."
"My goodness" as I fed her a second bite...and so on with the sound of contentment.
Feeling good about it, she ate 10 bites. THAT is really good for Moma's appetite.
When I went to the kitchen to rinse her bowl, I found the pan had been rinsed out and the remaining soup was gone.
"That was great," Papa said, as he walked into the kitchen with HIS dirty bowl.