Biscuits, Buns and a Bayonet

     I was rearranging my stand up freezer, trying to make room on a shelf for extra food my daughter purchased.   She only has a little freezer over her fridge and as we all know, it doesn't hold much.  So, I was downstairs rearranging my freezer making more room.  I inherited this freezer when my mom passed away not quite 2 years ago.  I never really thought about its contents to be honest...until today.  When she passed away, there was some frozen juice, ice cream and a loaf of bread remaining in there.  When my family moved into this house, we filled this freezer with our own things.  But, today as I was organizing things a little bit better I came across a drawer full of my mom's baking.  There was a bag of biscuits, some buns and a cherry pie.  I felt like I couldn't breathe.  Closing the freezer, I sat down on the stairs and sobbed.  It seemed silly to be crying over a few frozen baked goods, but I cried none the less.  Normally these yummy delights make my eyes close in anticipation and my belly growl at the thought of eating them, but not today.  No, today they represented loss and sadness.  My mom, she enjoyed baking, and, we enjoyed her baking as well!  When my 3 brothers and I were children, we never had store bought treats, never!  There were cookies, squares, muffins to nibble on, plus freshly baked buns and biscuits at least 3 times a week to enjoy with our dinner.  The one positive thing about starting a new school year was the knowledge that upon walking through the door, we would be hit with that old familiar heady aroma of fresh buns, slathered in butter!  My mom would have a plate with a bun, still warm from the oven, gracing it's surface with butter melting down the sides.  I can still smell that sweet scent when I close my eyes.  Yes, it was the aroma of buns, but it was more than that...it was the smell of home.  My mom showed us love everyday, but her baking, it was a non verbal confirmation of love and safety, and, the security it represented.  My mom was gone now, ravaged by cancer.  My twin brother and I visited our mom everyday, especially after my dad's death.  She still continued to bake even after her diagnosis, until she was too weak to do it.  Seeing that drawer of her frozen goodies crushed me when first seeing them.  I felt like I had been stabbed in the heart by a long, sharp bayonet.  I thought I had a grip on my grief at this point.  Yes, I still had some bad times but I knew the triggers and tried to avoid them.  I was not prepared for this, it was a total TKO!  I felt like I was been sucked backwards in some sort of time warp.   I was 7 years old and standing on a stool, hands in dough, trying desperately to knead the dough like my mom.  Zoom, going again, I was 17, setting the table.  Hearing my mom in the background telling me to make room for the buscuit's.  These, golden medallions of delicious, piled high on the plate, waiting for hungry mouths to devour them.  Whoosh, I am 24, sitting at the table with my mom, dad and my fiance, cutting into a flaky cherry pie, baked because my mom knows this is my sweethearts favourite.  There I go again, I am 35, my 2 children are both on stools, with their chubby little hands in dough, listening to grandma's loving direction.  Tears begin to flow again.  Baking to some represents a lovely dessert or snack, to me, it represents my mom and her love for her family.  It represents safety in an unsure world.  I haven't felt that safe since she passed away.  It was now up to me to fill that void, to grow up and be responsible.  So, back to the freezer, removing the perfect golden buscuit's, the large, round buns of gold and that cherry pie just waiting for a scoop of vanilla ice cream; so, now, placing them on a different freezer shelf.  Knowing at some point they will need to be eaten.  Not today.  Perhaps in the fall, one cool night I will warm them in the oven and then place them on my kitchen table, smell that old familiar fragrance, closing my eyes, remembering my mom.  Perhaps this was my mom's last gift to me, to put these away, knowing that one day when I was really missing her I would find them.  I chose to believe this, feeling my mom's hug through the power of baking. ♡♡♡