Chicken Soup to Die For

Work had been crazy! It felt good to be home. I kicked off my shoes, and splashed cool water on my face. I could hardly wait to slip into my favorite pajamas, kick back on the couch, and relax with my nightly glass of merlot. First, I needed to check in with Mom. I dialed the phone and waited for her to answer. She didn't pick up until the fifth ring.
"Hi, Mom! I was starting to worry. Did I wake you?. . .It's only 7 o'clock. . . Jackie... Your daughter. . . So, how was your day?"
I held the receiver to my weary ear while my mother caught me up on her day. She had gone to the beauty shop after grocery shopping in the morning. Sharon, my older sister, had stopped over in the afternoon and brought her a bunch of daises, and then had stayed to help her with her bills. When Mom started to tell me what a wonderful daughter her Sharon was, I cut her off at the knees.
"Sharon is dead!" I blurted, my frustration and fatigue overpowering my common decency.
Sharon, two years my senior, (and Mom's favorite), had died suddenly nine years earlier, leaving my younger sister and me the protectors of our shell-shocked, widowed mother. Since my 'kid' sister was busy "getting on with her life", the responsibility had fallen onto my 'grown-up' shoulders. The weight of the task had gotten much heavier now that my mother was exhibiting serious signs of dementia.
To compound the situation, this memory-impaired octogenarian (who still had the keys to her car) had been able to fool her physician. Months ago, Dr. Potts had informed me that, in good conscience, he could not write that all-important letter (stating that my mother had this incapacitating illness), and needed a guardian. So, because of the good doctor's bad judgment, I was left without the very rights I needed to protect my vulnerable mother.
"So, what else did you do today?" I asked, gently trying to guide her away from my cruel outburst. "You made chicken soup?. . .Yum!"
At one time, my mother made chicken soup to die for!
She went on to tell how the butcher at Safeway had looked at her like she was crazy when she asked for a chicken with feet. Of course he didn't have one, she said, and he talked her into buying a stewing chicken.
Her words took me back forty-five years to the home we shared with my maternal grandparents back in Illinois. They lived in their own basement, so our family could have the main floor. My mind wandered to the chicken coop out back, and to the blood-stained chopping block. Babi (my grandmother) raised chickens, and Dede (my grandfather) killed them. Babi's chicken soup was so delicious, my young mind looked right past the 'who, what and wherefore' of how the chickens found their way into the cook's cast-iron soup pot.
Babi always had chicken soup simmering on the front burner of the wood-burning stove in her kitchen. Dede would lift me up, his sturdy arms holding me fast, so I could peek into the pot, and watch the chicken's feet float to the top, talons skimming the bubbling broth, and bouncing past the carrots, celery and potatoes.
"So, you had a bowl for lunch. . . How was it? . . . Sounds delicious, though footless...You said he sold you a stewing chicken, without feet. . .the butcher. . .It was a joke, Mom!"
My alarm bells sounded. Had she really made my all-time favorite food? Could it possibly be true that there was chicken soup simmering in a pot on my mother's stove as we spoke? My mouth began to water, giving Mom the benefit of the doubt.
"So, is there any left? I haven't eaten yet. . . I know you make enough for an army . . . You baked a pineapple upside-down cake?. . .Today?. . .Wow!"
The first dessert my mother had ever made for my father (shortly after their first date) had been a pineapple upside-down cake, and he had fallen in love with her at first bite. Mom had not made a pineapple upside-down cake since my dad's death thirty year earlier.
"I'll be right over!" I said, desperately needing to trust my taste buds, and hung up the phone.
I slipped on my shoes, grabbed my car keys, and made the ten minute trip across town to my mother's house, praying that her culinary talents had suddenly been reborn!
I pulled my Mazda Protégé into Mom's driveway just as the Arizona sun disappeared behind the White Tank Mountains. The house was dark. I hurried up the front walk. I didn't have a house key (she wouldn't let anyone have one), so I rang the front door bell. I could hear the television droning in the den, the theme song from the Andy Griffith Show playing faintly in the background.
I called out as I pounded on the door. "Mom, I'm here. HELLO!"
I tried the knob. The door was unlocked, so I let myself in. I hoped no one else had. When I got to the middle of the living room, I breathed in, praying that the aroma of Babi's chicken soup would waft up my nostrils.
"Mom?"
I made my way to the dining room, hoping I would find a table set for two, with my mother, the hostess, sitting at one end, awaiting my arrival. The table was heaped with newspapers and mail. Mom's purse sat open on one of the dining room chairs.
"It's me, Jackie—your daughter," I said, waiting for some sign of life.
I could hear the sound of coughing coming from the direction of the den, so at least I knew where she was. Having located my mother, I continued my journey through the dining room and into the kitchen. I mentally bypassed the sour odor that permeated the house as I sniffed the air again, ever-searching for a scent of chicken soup.
In an ideal world, while Mom watched Andy and Opie, I would fix each of us a bowl of the golden elixir, with saltines on the side. And, for dessert  we would have pineapple upside-down cake with whipped cream on top--in an ideal world. However, I could see there were no pots or pans of any kind on the stove, and the covered cake server was empty. It was looking more and more like my taste buds were going to be devastated! I opened the Kelvinator in search of the ever-elusive meal my mouth watered for. A Tupperware bowl (containing something green and fuzzy), and a half-full jar of sweet pickle relish were the only things that greeted me. As I pushed the door shut, I made a mental note to stop at Safeway tomorrow morning before work.
"Is someone here?"
"It's me, Jackie," I replied, my throat suddenly aching, as the tears welled behind my eyes.
I stood in the doorway of the musty-smelling den. My mother was sitting in her blue leather recliner, right where I had left her this morning. ( I had brought her an Egg McMuffin for breakfast.)  She was dressed in the same nightgown from the day before, and the day before that. It was obvious she had not bathed in a while. Her greasy hair hadn't even been combed since my attempt two days earlier. "I can take care of myself!" she had screamed as she jerked the hair brush from my hand and whipped it across the bathroom.
My mother looked so tiny, so frail. When had she gotten so thin? Why hadn't I noticed?
She looked up from the images on the television screen. "What are you doing here?" She frowned as she sat up in her chair, the uneaten Egg McMuffin on the side table next to her. "I just finished eating, and I am about to go to bed."
"What did you eat, Mom?" I asked, as I brushed away a tear that had sneaked out.
"I made some chicken soup this afternoon, after my Sharon left..." Mom went on about the invisible bunch of daisies while I bit my tongue.
She went on about the nonexistent chicken soup, while Aunt Bea scolded Opie for running through the kitchen in his muddy boots.
Mom wagged her finger at me." You didn't finish your homework, young lady. Daddy is very upset!" She went on, "Sharon always finishes hers!"
I bit my tongue bloody, while Opie apologized to Aunt Bea.
"Daddy and I ate all the pineapple upside-down cake."  Mom went on, while that thief in the night stole another piece of her mind. "And, there's none left for you, little miss smarty pants!"
She turned back toward Opie's apology, dismissing me. I kissed her quickly on her pale, hollow cheek, turned and left the room.  On my way out, I slipped her key ring out of her purse, locked the front door behind me, and headed for home, anticipating my comfy pajamas and a friendly bottle of ruby elixir that would help get me to the morning.