With Extra Milk Please

This morning I took out the big coffee cup. I wanted lots of milk, and this one is perfect for that. As I sat at my Mom's kitchen table and started to enjoy it, I remembered all the mornings Dad had made me lattes in this extra big cup because he knew how much I loved my extra milk. I really miss him. Sure I miss the lattes- our espresso maker (Sylvia) revolted the day we called hospice and actually blew up when my Mom went to turn her on- but really I miss him. I miss weekends at home, coming downstairs and doing my best daddy's girl voice to get him to make me a latte. I miss drinking it slowly, taking it in, getting made fun of for letting it get too cold (I can't drink them when they're super hot) and getting to tell Dad how good it was. I miss him teaching me how to make them; with all the little steps he had created for it. The little things I would probably do if we had Sylvia back.

There is so much around me that makes me miss him, I got a flyer for an upcoming folk festival in New Haven- We went last year to see Richard Thompson and before Richard came on Dad and I walked around the booths looking at funny political bumper stickers and pins, waiting for hot water for tea and eating kettle corn- and immediately threw it out, I couldn't be reminded of it in that moment.

Sometimes its not as real, I can avoid the memories, avoid the moments in which the reality of his death is clear and present. Sometimes it’s unavoidable, like using the cup he probably last made me coffee into. And in those moments, I have to let the memories crash over me; I have to feel the pain and sadness that accompanies them and the other memories that float up too. They all crash over me. And as they do, my coffee can cool down.