Forks, spoons and knives.
We use them everyday without a second thought.
We cut foods up to cook and we slice foods up to eat.
My first real job where I received a paycheck was in a restaurant as a hostess. I was 15 years old.
We went around setting placemats with silverware and napkins for the patrons.
The hostesses were all trained to set the placemats a certain way.
The fork went on the left side underneath the napkin.
The knife went on the right side of the placemat with the blade facing the fork and a spoon on the right side of the knife.
An easy way to remember which way to place the knife was to remember that the knife protects the spoon from the fork. That’s why the blade was facing left.
That was my job for quite a few years when I was a teenager.I don’t know how many knives passed through my hands over those years.
Plus all of the times I’ve cooked for my family.
Every time I use a knife to slice potatoes when I make mashed potatoes or when I cut up the little red potatoes when I make parmesan chicken with roasted garlic potatoes.
The times I sliced bread when I would bake homemade bread or when I would slice the tops off of the strawberries to make Billy’s favorite strawberry jelly in the summertime.
There’s no telling how many apples I’ve cut to show my kids the star in the center before we eat them or cut up countless chicken nuggets so my children wouldn’t choke on them when they were little.
Never in a million years did I think that my child, my 1st born son would be stabbed to death with a knife.
Every time any of my children would fall or get hurt I would have a moment or two where I felt physically ill until I could find the courage to look at their injury.
Usually after my husband looked first.
When our daughter fell head first into the corner of our T.V stand when she was 3 years old,14 year old Billy was there to pick her up and take her upstairs to the bathroom to see how bad it was. It was take a trip to the emergency room bad.
I was sitting in the E.R. with her, holding a towel on her forehead and I thought I would pass out.
I don’t mind the sight of blood. Only when it comes to my children.
Now when I have to use a knife, I shudder. Every single time. When I pick the knife up I feel physically ill.
Today I was cutting little red potatoes to go along with my meatloaf. The knife slipped and my finger felt the sharp blade.
I immediately broke down into sobs. Not because it hurt me physically, but because I can’t imagine the hurt and pain and fear my son must’ve felt that fateful night.
It’s little daily things that I’ve done for years without a second thought that now make me shake and break down and cry.
I try so hard not to think of his last moments but every time I pick up a knife I shudder and have to fight those terrible images.
So many questions…and no answers.
None of it makes any sense, but our family will forever feel the repercussions of one persons choices for the rest of our lives.