Mostly OK, and Thai Butternut Squash Soup

It's winter here in NJ, the winter that we never had in December, January, or February. 

My mother died on February 15th, just four days shy of 20 years after the day my father also died of cancer, and yesterday my brother and I were supposed to inter her ashes, except there was a nor'easter in Mahwah, where the cemetery is, so that was a non-starter. So instead we're going on Friday, when it's only supposed to rain. My mother, who was like my own personal Weather Channel (she'd always call -- no matter what precipitation was falling from the sky or the wind was blowing -- to speculate on the catastrophic conditions she was sure were unfolding wherever we lived) is definitely having the last laugh.

I'm mostly OK. There are moments when I almost go to call her and realize I can't. We'd only see her once every few months before her diagnosis, and I didn't see her that much more in the months after her diagnosis beyond the times I was driving her to appointments (which were not many, because my brother shouldered the bulk of that burden), but it was hard to not be there as much as I thought I should be there during those last days, and I miss just knowing she's out there. I've gotten some lovely flower arrangements, and lots of cards and kind words from friends and people who knew her and loved her, and I almost feel guilty for not feeling more miserable all the time, just as I felt guilty about not feeling more constantly miserable when my father died. Those cards and flowers make me feel even worse, in a way. I almost want to feel what they expect me to feel. Maybe it's even sadder that I can't right now. Maybe I will feel more miserable later? I know there will be spaces that feel unfilled when we all get together and she’s not there.

It is weird to be an orphan, completely untethered to living parents, but also ... family is complicated, you know? I loved my mother but home was a hard place when I was growing up and I would not say that I had a happy childhood. There were reasons (besides a good fellowship offer) that I left to live on the west coast for grad school, and there were many moments, even as an adult, when I wondered (and I realize how self-centered this sounds) if my mother saw me for me or cared enough to find out. She was a good person (and in fact a lovely person for so many people; she could talk to a lamppost and I know she made others feel good in her chatty way), but she was not a person I ever confided in. She offered no barrier between my father and me. Sometimes I couldn't be sure if she ever heard me at all when I talked to her ... there were so many times when it felt like she just kept right on talking. It wasn't a kind of relationship that invited confiding.

It feels particularly wrong to think about things this way right now when I feel like I should just be sad and only speak positively about a parent I've lost, but the past is bound up in how I feel about the losing ... it can't not be.

As my brother and I were cleaning out her apartment we found my mother's journals of the year after my father died, which I read voraciously, hoping for something that might help me make sense of my complicated feelings of sad and hurt and everything else, but most of it was about food (things she cooked and things she ate at restaurants and things she felt bad about eating and how many weight watchers points they were), and my brother coming to do maintenance on her house, and her annoyances at “lazy” kids in her classes, and news of her teacher friends from school, and her activities at church, where she was very involved.

So sometimes I wallow in whatever it is I'm trying to sort out. Other times I'm back to making appointments to try to sort out my own health, now with the additional risk factor to report of a second parent dying from the same general kind of cancer. The latest addition to the constellation of my crazy postconcussive symptoms is pain behind my eye and what I can only describe as dimming vision, which is not a retinal tear (I've been assured of this by not one but three ophthalmologists) but could be optic neuritis, caused (?) by the past-nasal drip I've had for two and a half years but since my ENT — my second — isn't willing to do anything about the drip (which is caused by ... who knows? a nerve that was injured in the concussion? septum that was deviated when I hit my head and face?) because it's not bad enough (despite the fact that my ear is often clogged and painful and I’m often off balance because I am probably experiencing chronic infections). And since ophthalmologists don't look at optic nerves (you apparently have to go to a neuro-ophthalmologist for that) I get to wait until April 18 which is the first appointment I could get in Philadelphia, the only place close to me where one can see a neuro-ophthalmologist. By which point I could be blind and it honestly feels no one gives a shit. 

I literally sound like a crazy hypochondriac even when I listen to myself.

I also finally got up the courage to see my ob-gyn, which I'd been putting off for two years because my last appointment felt so completely dismissive, only to be told that my excessive menstrual bleeding all. the. freaking. time. these days (really ... I had three days of not bleeding since early February) is "likely just perimenopause." Which feels not reassuring at all to someone who has just had a second parent die of cancer.

On second thought I guess I'm not really as mostly OK as I say I am. I'm a hot freaking mess.

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Thai Butternut Squash Soup
(made a while ago and adapted from the NY Times, and probably what I should be making for myself tonight, both because it's acting like winter and because I could use something warm and comforting. Except I am tired of cooking, too.)

4 T. coconut oil or neutral-tasting oil
3 medium shallots, diced
1 (2") piece of fresh ginger, peeled, thinly sliced
1 lemongrass stalk, cut into 3-inch pieces
Kosher salt
2 medium butternut squashes (about 4 lbs.), peeled, seeded and cut into about 3/4-inch cubes
2 (13.5 oz.) cans coconut milk
4 T. Thai green curry paste, or to taste
3 T. fish sauce (or soy sauce for vegetarians)
3 to 4 c. water or chicken stock

FOR THE GARNISH:

¾ c. raw peanuts
¾ c. unsweetened raw coconut flakes
2 T. fish sauce (or soy sauce for vegetarians)
8 small dried red chiles, thinly sliced (optional)
1 T. neutral-tasting or melted coconut oil
1 T. minced lemongrass
1 t. sugar
10 lime leaves, thinly sliced (optional)
Handful of Thai or Italian basil leaves, or cilantro
2 to 3 limes, quartered

Heat oven to 300 degrees. Melt oil in a large Dutch oven or soup pot over medium-high heat. When oil shimmers, add shallots, ginger, lemongrass and a generous pinch of salt. Reduce heat to low. Cook, stirring occasionally, until shallots are tender and just starting to brown, about 18 minutes.

Add squash, coconut milk, curry paste, 3 T. fish or soy sauce and water/stock. Increase heat to high. When liquid comes to a boil, reduce to a simmer and cook the soup covered until squash is tender, about 25 minutes.

Make garnish while soup cooks: In a medium mixing bowl, toss together peanuts, coconut flakes, fish or soy sauce, chiles, 1 tablespoon oil, the minced lemongrass, the sugar and the lime leaves, if using.

Spread mixture out onto a baking sheet in a single layer. Bake for 18 to 20 minutes, stirring every 3 minutes after the first 10 minutes. Remove from oven when coconut is deep golden brown, and pour mixture immediately into a bowl to prevent overcooking. Stir to combine, and set aside.

Remove soup from heat. Remove lemongrass stalks from pot. Use a hand blender to purée soup. Alternatively, transfer soup in batches to a blender or food processor and purée. Taste and adjust for salt and curry paste. Add water or stock to thin soup to the desired consistency.

Thinly slice the basil leaves or cilantro and arrange on a small plate or platter, along with lime wedges and peanut mixture. Serve soup hot with garnishes.