On Friday, December 10, 1999 my husband made some pizza dough and baked 3 pizzas. On December 11, he took some pizza to his parents house and took the kids down with him for a visit. He froze the other two pizzas. When he came home with the kids, my oldest son was very ill, he had a high temperature and was almost listless. I took him to the doctor on Sunday and brought back some anti-biotics, he started feeling better, but my second son fell ill. On Monday I took my baby to the doctor, his temp was 105. The doc gave me anti-biotics, and within a few hours he started feeling better. When I drove home from the doctor's office, I found my husband on the couch. "I can't move" he said. He had the same thing. "C'mon, let's go to the doctor," I told him, "the kids got anti-biotics and they are already better". He told me, "just let me sleep, I'll go when I wake up". He slept for 24 hours, and when he woke it was too late. We rushed him to the hospital, but the doctors could not save him. He died at 11:30pm, Wednesday, December 15, 1999. There were two frozen pizzas in our freezer. 
Those pizzas stayed in the freezer for months. I did not have the heart to eat them, although on some level I feel Bobby made the pizzas knowing he would not be here, and it was sort of like his legacy. If that doesn't make sense, I apologize. It does make sense to me.
I have never attempted to make pizza. Bobby came from an Italian family and pizza was their forte. I never felt I could own up to that, so I never tried. My oldest son now wants to be a chef. Yesterday, I felt brave, so we went to the grocery and bought pizza dough and all the fixings. The three of us made homemade pizza. It was delicious. It was symbolically delicious. It is now 2008. It took me over 8 years to make a pizza, but I finally did it, and we ate heartily in Bobby's honor.
Those pizzas stayed in the freezer for months. I did not have the heart to eat them, although on some level I feel Bobby made the pizzas knowing he would not be here, and it was sort of like his legacy. If that doesn't make sense, I apologize. It does make sense to me.
I have never attempted to make pizza. Bobby came from an Italian family and pizza was their forte. I never felt I could own up to that, so I never tried. My oldest son now wants to be a chef. Yesterday, I felt brave, so we went to the grocery and bought pizza dough and all the fixings. The three of us made homemade pizza. It was delicious. It was symbolically delicious. It is now 2008. It took me over 8 years to make a pizza, but I finally did it, and we ate heartily in Bobby's honor.
4 comments:
Every time we find good parking, we thank my husband's Uncle Chip. In life he was the king of finding great parking spots. I am glad you and your kids could make pizza...that is a wonderful way to share something of your husband with your children.
Okay Lisa, you're making me misty. I understand how it can be difficult to do something that takes you back to a time you wish, for obvious reason, you never were in the first place. You held onto him a long time and I think he managed to finally tell you it was okay to move on...via homemade pizza. I am hoping now that after your cathardic pizza, and all the other good things happening for you now, that other things will begin to come thru (you know what I mean).
Love ya,
Me
I'm glad you could overcome and share a wonderful pizza once again!
Now I'm all crying and stuff...
While I don't 100% understand your loss I do know that feeling of not wanting to do something for a while... For my hubby and I it was Hot Dogs...last meal we had with a dear friend before she was killed...and they were leftovers at that!
Ironically enough even though that happened 8 years ago come this July another friend and I were just talking about her with great fondness the other day, and when I came home the kids wanted...you guessed it..hot dogs for dinner...I couldn't conain my laughter (hubby thought I'd lost my ever-loving-mind too, until I explained what was so funny to him).
Post a Comment