My mom would often wake me when i was sick. Before i opened my eyes I knew it was her. The coolness of her palm relieved some of the discomfort I felt. The smell of soup filled the room. I never really cared for Chicken Noodle Soup. But then I remembered. The feeling of my mothers palm on my forehead. How safe and cared for I felt . The room is dark My mothers palm does nothing for the pain. With strained eyes i look down Soup gets saltier only by the second. As salt rained down on my bowl. The pitter patter only getting worse. My moms voice louder by the second. I just wanted chicken noodle soup.