While lying on my bed, thinking of everything I ate, trying to remember if anything tasted bad or if I ate anything afterward that I was allergic to, and wondering what the hell is that horrible pain that comes and goes in my stomach, I remembered my mom. I think that’s natural: When in pain, call Mom. Then I remembered the last time I had a fever. My mom was never the kind of mom to baby us when we were sick. Once I turned 10, all the babying was over. I no longer got to have the air conditioning on for the entire time I was sick. I didn’t have anyone to bring me food in bed or tell me when to drink my medicine; it was all me. Since then I was used to taking care of myself whenever I was sick with a flu, I knew exactly how many days it would take me to recover and when to drink the medicine I needed.
The last time I was home sick and mom was still with us, she knocked on my door and asked why I was home. I told her I was sick, and for the first time in years, she felt my temperature, ordered the help to fetch me some medicine, and insisted that I eat first. One of my favorite last memories of mom 🙂