One of the earliest memories I have of my mother is when I once asked her why she was crying and she said it was because of the onions. She was cooking in the kitchen–as she often was–while I played nearby. “Why do onions make you cry?” I asked her. “Porque son unas hijas de putas!”(Because they are sons of bitches!, she quickly replied).

To say that I miss my mom’s sense of humor, her cooking, her honesty and sometimes even her scent (yes, I remember my mother’s personal scent), is an understatement. I especially miss her when I’m not feeling well. And, today, is one of those days.

On my way back from the doctor, with my newly diagnosed sinus infection, I decided to make some chicken soup because while food is fuel for the body, the act of cooking is nourishment for the soul.

The simple motion of chopping onions can ignite the healing process and wake us up from a stupor of sadness or inactivity. When we cut into an onion a chemical reaction causes our tear glands to become irritated. Now the onions have given us a reason to cry about whatever it was that was making us sad. The unpleasant sting forces us to be in the moment.

My mother was very fond of cooking. So I imagine she didn’t really think that onions  were sons of bitches. She was probably mad or sad at something else and in that moment, instead of being annoyed at my questions, or sugar-coating her response, she just answered me in the most genuine way that she could—bad words and all.

And like her, I am not just teary because of the onions and the sinus infection. I’m sad because of a broken heart. So for now, I nourish my soul with the ingredients of my ancestors. I chop and dice; I cry. My homemade S.O.B. soup simmers in a pot. I take small sips of hot broth, inhaling its heavenly aroma. And I recover, just as I have in the past, one onion at a time.

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