By A quiet week. Sean is stable. He is not in much pain — Lucia and the hospice team are managing it well. He sleeps. He wakes. He talks a little. He listens to music. He has me read aloud to him. He is eating only broth and small spoons of things — ice cream became a favorite this week, the simple vanilla, because cold is gentle on the mouth sores and because sugar gives him a small pleasure. He asked for ice cream Tuesday. I had not had ice cream in the freezer. I drove to the grocery. I bought four pints. I brought them home. I gave him a spoon of vanilla. He closed his eyes. He said "Kate. Thank you." He ate the rest of the small bowl slowly. I sat with him. The simple pleasures are expanding and contracting. An ice cream pint is now a meaningful purchase.
The kids have adjusted to the hospital bed in the living room. It is the new normal. Liam reads on the floor next to it. Nora plays on the floor next to it. I work at the kitchen table twenty feet away. The house is organized around Sean.
Wednesday I spent an hour on Sean's bed with him just holding him. He was lucid. He said things he wanted to say. He said "Kate. I want you to do two things after." He said "remarry. Do not be alone. Find someone. I give you permission. I want you to." I said "Sean." He said "no, Kate. I mean it. Find someone. I do not want you alone." I said "I hear you, Sean. I am not saying yes and I am not saying no. I hear you." He said "second thing. I want you to keep cooking. Keep making the soup. Keep making the pancakes. Do not stop. Promise." I said "I promise. I will never stop." He said "good."
Thursday he said "Kate. If you have a son again, do not name him Sean." I laughed. I said "I will not have a son again. But if I did, I would not." He said "good. Too many Seans in this family." We laughed. It was a small gift, that laughter. I hold it.
Friday he slept most of the day. Lucia came. She adjusted the pain med slightly. She said "he is doing well. This is a stable phase. It may last a few weeks. It may be shorter." She said "we watch, we respond." I said "I know."
Saturday morning — I made pancakes. I made Sean's recipe, the buttermilk with blueberries. I made them for Liam and Nora. Sean was awake. He was in the living-room bed. I stood at the stove and made them. The first one burned. I ate the first one. Sean watched from the bed. He said "Kate." I said "yes." He said "you are doing it right." I said "I know, Sean." He said "good." Liam ate two. Nora ate one and a half. Sean ate half a pancake, slowly. He said "the first bite is the best." He said "it always is."
Sean asked for ice cream on a Tuesday, and I didn’t have any in the freezer — so I drove to the store and came back with four pints, because that is what you do. That spoon of vanilla, the way he closed his eyes, the way he said “Kate. Thank you.” — I have been thinking about the cold and the sweet ever since. These peppermint milkshakes are what I make when I want to honor that moment: something cold, something gentle, something that delivers a small and uncomplicated pleasure. He told me to keep cooking. This is me keeping that promise.
Peppermint Milkshakes
Prep Time: 5 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 5 minutes | Servings: 2
Ingredients
- 3 cups vanilla ice cream
- 3/4 cup whole milk
- 1/2 teaspoon pure peppermint extract
- 2 tablespoons crushed peppermint candies or candy canes, plus more for garnish
- Whipped cream, for serving
Instructions
- Blend. Add the vanilla ice cream, milk, and peppermint extract to a blender. Blend on medium speed until smooth and creamy, about 30–45 seconds. Taste and adjust peppermint extract if desired — start conservatively, as it is potent.
- Add the candy. Add the crushed peppermint candies and pulse 2–3 times just to incorporate, leaving some small pieces for texture.
- Serve immediately. Pour into two chilled glasses. Top each with whipped cream and a pinch of crushed peppermint candy. Serve with a wide straw.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 420 | Protein: 8g | Fat: 18g | Carbs: 58g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 160mg