Years ago, I mentioned to my mother how expensive coffee cost in the Florida Keys, where my husband and I spend part of the winter season. Mom loved her coffee and drank it throughout each day. She asked, “How expensive?” I said, “Almost twice what we pay up here!”
After that conversation, whenever she grocery shopped, she’d buy us a couple cans, keeping us regularly stocked with java. It became a joke between my husband and me. We’d get down to four or five cans and he’d say, “Better call your mom. She’s slacking off.”
Looking back, most conversations with Mom were spoken over cups of coffee. She never used a Mr. Coffee, and a Keurig completely confounded her. She always said coffee tasted better from a stainless steel pot on top of the stove, even when (as she aged) she started forgetting the pots on the hot burner. And I doubt anyone out there wouldn’t agree how sweet the sound and smell of coffee perking!
She was known for saying things like, “Sit down and have some coffee-and (coffee-and was always said as one word). Or she’d call and say, “Put on the coffee. We’re in the neighborhood.” Then she’d get here and say, “Only have time for a half-cup (again, half-cup as one word). I brought cheese Danish.” And the whole time we’d be talking, she’d stir four teaspoons of sugar around and around in her milky mug.
And this morning, while scraping the bottom of a coffee can, I had a vivid vision of my mother. Since her death, in my mind (my heart) she is always young and healthy and beautiful. So, her young self says to me, “No one should have to pay that much for coffee. These are for you.” And she hands me a shopping bag overfull with cans of Folgers.
I so miss being loved that much..