For my birthday this weekend, I had Mom make creamed peas and potatoes. It's a dish I have consistently adored my entire life. I still adore it. But I have to admit that I'm hesitant to make it. The last time I did was more than 6 years ago.
Z-man and I were living in Grandpa Thompson's house. I was pregnant with Zippy and Grandpa was in very poor health. Along with various other ailments, he rarely ate much of anything. A side effect from some of his medications. The day after I made a batch of peas and potatoes (with new potatoes and peas from Grandpa's garden), I came home from work to find Grandpa on the floor of the bathroom. He'd had a heart attack, and had probably been lying there all day.
What a horrible evening that was.
John got home shortly thereafter. We got him up and John helped him get dressed and cleaned up. He was too stubborn to let me take him to the hospital, so we called my parents. While we waited for them, Grandpa ate a great big bowl of creamed peas and potatoes that I warmed up for him. It had been many months since I had seen him eat so much. And his casual comment that they tasted good nearly broke me.
They admitted him to the hospital, and he passed away not even 2 days later. My peas and potatoes, a dish Grandma had made him countless times over the years, was the last thing he at at home.
Maybe I should make them again as a celebration. Maybe I should--but I can't yet. I can eat them with only sweet memories. But making them myself seems somehow beyond me. Even though I know he'd shake his head and think I was being remarkably silly. And he's right. I am being silly, ridiculously silly. Maybe this year when my potatoes come in--maybe when I harvest from my yard just like he loved to do--maybe for the first time in my children's lives I can make them this dish. This food that has such deep roots in my soul of love and family.
Meg, thanks for sharing this. I have tears streaming down my cheeks right now. I have very fond memories of my Grandmother, like you do with your Grandpa. I'm sure that they look down at us all the time and think about how silly we are, but it's those small and simple things that we remember the most that have the most meaning. I don't think it's silly at all. I think it's a precious way that we can always remember them.
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