I saw this yellow rose next to a pink one, by a church, and got excited. Peace roses!
My mom loved roses, and we grew some in the yard. Her mom loved carnations.
So my mom loved roses for herself and carnations for her mom. Thanksgiving when she would put a flower on her mom’s grave, it could be something picked from the yard. But it could be a carnation specially. And she would see if there were other flowers, like a sibling put a flower before her, that day.
It’s like when my therapist died and her biller informed me, a few days ago. I needed sugar really bad. We went to this gas station that scoops Thrifty ice cream, which was a treat we got a lot, when I was a kid. I liked two scoops in a cup. You people who like cones make no sense to me.
My mom loved rocky road, but that makes no sense to me either. Ok, almonds and marshmallows in chocolate–so what? Ming loves rocky road also. As for me, I’m a vegetarian, and marshmallows normally have gelatin.
My mom loved rocky road best, but she also loved butter pecan. And her mom loved black walnut. So at the Thrifty place the other day, panicking with grief that my therapist is dead, I got butter pecan as a sacred food related to my mom, and black walnut as a sacred food related to her mom.
“Two nuts! Like me and you!” I told Ming in the car. And I fed him bites of both so he could try them.
He said, “Mmmm!” and found them very tasty, especially the butter pecan. He got two scoops of rocky road in a waffle cone.
What about me? What’s my favorite flavor? Well, there are a lot of ways to like something.
It’s like when our friend was recently here, and asked me what I think happens to us when we die. I told him: when my mom died last year, that first night as I lay in bed, I reached out to her, like every night, but she was no longer there, and I panicked. Then I told him about my dad’s death too, and where I believe he went.
“Ok, that’s your parents. That’s not you. What about you?” our friend asked.
I love brownie nut. Mm–lovely chocolate, and then the dense brownie cubes, with nuts so fatty and rich. But I favor even more feeling connected to my female ancestors who are the reason I’m alive today, as they taught me how to love.
I want my mom’s love more than anything. So I ate the butter pecan and called to her, or tried to feel her love in the creamy, cold sweetness. My mama, my childhood, some good moments of that tender young life.