May 17, 2010 @ 8:49 am
Recipe of Hope
Kansas City Hospice & Palliative Care, Kansas City, MO (26)
I’ve spoken frequently about my grandmother, Meme. Incredibly involved in the upbringing of myself and my two brothers, she not only greatly impacted my life in every possible way, but as her legacy continues, I am constantly reminded of the lessons she taught, the beliefs she held and her hope for my future.
Her life was full of love, friendship, kindness and memories. With her North Carolina drawl and indisputable charm, she captured the heart of a tall Kentucky boy, a boy she later married and made a proud father. After chaperoning school dances and graduations and hosting and a beautiful wedding, she welcomed three grandchildren, two boys and one girl. Her final days were spent on the farm that, with her family, she’d made a home. As the bluebirds scurried along the uneven fence tops, she enjoyed the gentle cracks of the trees as they rustled in the wind, and the view of the hay bales scattered from field to field…until she was carried from this world, and had begun her journey to the great scene in the sky. Her greatest wish had been granted. She’d left this earth with her family surrounding her, from the home she’d loved for ages. This was possible with the help of Hospice of the Bluegrass. With frequent visits to her house she’d been able to stay in her home, and I would forever be grateful. So, when I first found that the Kansas City Hospice House was in need of some friendly bakers, I was ready to serve. Not only would I be fulfilling a “Purpose,” but most importantly, I’d be helping an organization that had been so comforting to my family in an incredible time of need.
I’d arrived in Kansas City and my first stop, Price Chopper, a local Missouri grocery store. I walked in right before a huge downpour of rain (total score), and all was going quite well. Making sugar cookies (what I considered to be the most doable provided my lack of baking skills), I’d grabbed the vanilla, the baking powder, some eggs and the butter. Making my way toward the register, the most peculiar character ran right in front of me. Collared and all, a small white terrier literally galloped across my path, and then, behind him, a store employee followed. Certain he was trying to shield himself from the storm, and being the complete animal lover I am, I pursued the situation. Unfortunately, he’d disappeared. I continued on my original quest toward the cashier, and again, there he ran. I mean, there wasn’t much I could do being almost a thousand miles away from home and all, but again, I followed, hoping the employees wouldn’t mind providing this dear creature with a safe haven for at least a few moments. Then I saw the pup being hauled out, by his owner no doubt, as the smile on the man’s face made it quite evident. He’d escaped from the car and was running around like some kind of a gangster, searching diligently for his master. How hysterical is this? I love this story!
After purchasing my ingredients and driving for a short while, I’d arrived at the Hospice House and was welcomed with a beautiful courtyard, a friendly community, and a calmness quite unexpected. Following some brief introductions, I was escorted to the kitchen to bake the day away. I became acquainted with the layout of the area, and after sorting through the cabinets, some bowls, a few cups, several pans, a mixer and the various measuring spoons were piled high on the table beside me. I reached for my recipe, and as a drop of sweat touched my brow (just kidding), I slowly read through my instructions. Quite honestly, I wasn’t nearly as intimidated as I’d originally thought. Having my ingredients lined in front of me, and my materials organized, the baking seemed easy, relaxing even. Blending and pouring became second nature, and I loved rolling the small balls of mixture, placing them inches from the others. As the beeping sound of the timer clicked on and off, my cookie sheets went in and out of the oven and minutes later, my palms covered with a hand towel, I still felt the warm of the pan as I placed each on the stovetop. The smell of the freshly baked dough permeated through the kitchen, down the halls, and as I washed the sugar from the bowl and the broken egg from the spoons, my baking was complete.
There, on the counters surrounding, sat my four dozen cookies. They’d formed beautifully, and with the quick flip of the spatula, I was able to taste the ooey goodness that was my sweetly produced sugar cookie. Though slightly dry (you can NEVER bake for the suggested time-gah, what WAS I thinking!), I was quite satisfied with my 48 tiny accomplishments. I gathered the remaining confections, placed each in a large container and walked them to their new home in an open area near the end of the hallway. I sat them carefully where all could see, and as I looked around and saw the people sitting, I wondered with whom they were visiting, with what problems they were faced, and I hoped that very soon, they would find their peace.
For those facing a life-threatening illness and for the families affected, the people of Hospice are able to provide care, education and the help necessary to make such a transition as easy as possible. Their mission is not only honorable, but absolutely invaluable for these people in their time of need. Family members breathe more easily knowing that their loved ones rest somewhat more contently, and patients are able to live with only the pleasant burden of remembering their past; the early morning fishing trips, the college sororities, the fancy restaurants, the anniversaries and the birthdays.
I often think of my grandmother, Meme; the way I held her shoulder as I stepped into a new dress, the soft tone of her voice as she explained a sad truth I undoubtedly would never understand, and the touch of her hand as she swung me back and forth. The cellophane-wrapped Easter baskets, late night cans of corn, and “Saturday Night Live” skits that made stomachs hurt from laughter are the memories that make me jealous of the relationship that once was my reality. The happiness she provided reached person after person, decade after decade, and I am so very blessed to have known her, and to have loved her then, and now.
