Down With The Sickness

The thing I remember most about being sick when I was a kid is tea. My mom would tell me that drinking tea was important in getting over whatever it was I had, a fever, a cold, the flu, chicken pox. Tea was the cure-all. She'd fill my cup and make it milky and sweet and while she was busy doing laundry or cleaning the house, I'd slurp it down. I'd find her in her room and tell her that I simply couldn't finish the tea - only to playfully turn my cup over and reveal its emptiness. She acted surprised every time. I'd wrap myself up in our red and black checkered blanket which was scratchy and soft at the same time and watch Sesame Street, drifting in and out of sleep. When my mother had to work it was my grandmother that would watch over me while I was sick. She would sprinkle cinnamon and sugar on toast, leave the milk out of my tea but sweeten it with honey and play cards with me until I reluctantly fell asleep. Now I wake to a dark, empty apartment... carry my box of extra soft puffs and curl up on my chaise lounge with a blue and white blanket - scratchy but soft. I still take my tea milky and sweet. I nosh on pretzels and wait for reruns of Gilmore Girls. I ache for my friends. And when I'm really sick...I call my mom. And when she comes over, I feel a million times better. Grateful that some things...never change.