Like most southern mothers from the depression era, my mother believed you should always have more than enough food in the house. She kept her kitchen fully stocked with vegetables that she had canned from her garden. Her freezer was packed to overflow with frozen beef, pork, and chicken raised on the family farm.She made homemade, hand-rolled biscuits every day. My favorite meal she cooked was cubed steak with gravy, mashed potatoes, and English peas. I also loved Momma’s fried okra. She would slice it thin, batter it lightly in flour and cornmeal, then fry it in hot oil until it was crunchy and crisp.My husband’s favorite was her fried chicken and cream gravy. Bless his heart, I don’t fry chicken. His second favorite was her chicken dressing. Fortunately for him, my mom taught me how to cook it exactly like she did.Every New Year’s Day, she made a full-blown traditional meal for our family of black-eyed peas, collards, ham, and all the trimmings. I suppose by now you’ve realized we are extremely southern, but Momma didn’t just cook good southern food; she made great spaghetti, chili, and shepherd’s pie, and there was always more than enough for anyone who needed a meal.When dementia stole Momma’s ability to cook, her kitchen was never filled again with the aroma of fried chicken and gravy. Her dining room chairs were empty. No visitors came anymore. I became her cook and caregiver, and my kitchen became the provider of love and care for her nutritional needs. It was an easy job; I learned from the best how to care for and nurture those you love.I miss you Momma.