Broccoli Memories (Mummy & me)

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I look at broccoli and think of her. Think of how I initially hated it but grew to love it because they said it would make her better.

I think of the salads I had to learn to make just for it to be sweet for her. I think of the love that was infused into each one of those tiny dishes.

I think of the life before the chaos, of how I had never wanted to see that wretched vegetable in our kitchen let alone on our dinner table.

I also think of how I suddenly started feeling when I didn’t find it fresh on the supermarket shelf. How I’d hop from one place to the next in hope of finding even one piece of that tiny vegetable; green and healthy.

Then I think of how elated I’d be when I saw it. There, just looking at me. Beckoning. That cute “baby tree” as I sometimes call it. I’d look at it like a child who had finally spotted that new edition Barbie doll at the toy store. Then just like that child, I’d grab that little thing with love and take her home and make the most out of her little self with the feeling that “anything is possible” (Barbie’s Anthem).

I’m immediately taken to her smile. The one she had when the salad I made didn’t remind her of how bad she was feeling but instead made her experience a new tasty dish.

I also see a fake smile. The one she had when I fumbled the recipe and the whole thing turned out to be barely edible…

A moment to just soak in that smile; the one that made me know that someone loved me so much they didn’t want to hurt me by pointing out my failures. That gave me hope that I could do better and that mistakes were A-Okay. That made me fall in love with the person who carried it more and more each day like an addict. The one that makes me well up each and every time my brain brings it back.

So, to help me cope, I gathered all of our broccoli memories; and let me tell you they are all perfect. Perfect because the entirety of that woman screamed one thing; ethereal beauty.

So no. Broccoli can’t just be that veggie parents shove down their screaming kids’ throats.

For me it’s definitely something more; A reminder.

Of how a scared little girl tried to love her mother 💗.