My mother-in-law lost her husband recently. It was sudden and unexpected and we were all pretty stunned. She’s taking it well but it’s fresh still and facebook still throws things at her that are pretty clear reminders. This morning it was a quiz that told you who your best friend is and it picked him for her. I wrote her a small burb about something that comforts me when I’m missing my lost folks. It’s really a picture in my head but it comforts me.
It’s a beautiful sunny day with a nice cooling breeze that’s blowing in the windows keeping it from being uncomfortable. The trees rustle a familiar tune as the wind ruffles through their leaves and needles and stray noises from daily chores and children playing burst through occasionally. There are slight waves breaking on the beach adding to the summer symphony. I see a small cabin with a large kitchen. Wood stove on one side, gas stove on the other. Blue water pump besdie the sink. There’s something baking or roasting in the oven. Blueberry pie or chocolate brownie or some sort of roast beast meant for dinner. There is a large table, big enough to fit many people, surrounded by comfortable wooden chairs. My mom is sitting at it. Her back to the hutch. To the left of her is her mom. Gramma never visited this particular kitchen in her lifetime but she would have been welcome and fits well in this company. Blonde head and grey one close together as they drink coffee and talk. At the head of the table is my Aunt Karen. Notepad and ashtray within reach. On her side is her mom, Auntie Addie. The scene oozes motherliness and so much love I took for granted when I had it nearby and reachable. The stories I heard and now grasp at trying to remember because felt I had all the time in the world to hear them over and over again. I wish I’d written them down.
Others pass through from time to time. Some naturally belong here, others are first time visitors, all are welcome. Some just stop for a drink, coffee or rye or whatever, others set a spell and shoot the shit.
The four women are always there. They keep an eye on me. My very own cheerleaders. When I’m down or having a hard time they send me support. Sad they can’t talk to me to help. When I do something funny or boneheaded I can hear their cackling in the back of my head and it reminds me to laugh at myself so they aren’t laughing at me. They are always there, this picture in my head. I miss them all so much.
I told my mother-in-law to send her husband a prayer to stop by for a drink. He’d be more than welcome, the baking is incredible.