“This morning when I had my cereal I patted it down into the milk like Grandma Ruth did.”
This from my oldest, last night at dinner.
I was confused. Milk? Who? Oh. My mom- Nana- but sometimes “Grandma Ruth” because my oldest never knew her. A more formal name, maybe, to remind me/us who she’s talking about?
I had forgotten this little thing my mom used to do. When she said it, a little room in the back of my memory opened up. Yes- she did do that. Patted down the cereal into the milk, with the back of her spoon. Usually a combination of two cereals- one like cardboard and one like cardboard-sweetened-with-honey. (We never got the good cereals.)
“I must have told you that- what- years ago? I didn’t even remember that.”
“I think you told me when I was five.”
It was like a gift from my oldest. A gift that is sweet and hurts at the same time. It lights up a part of me and hurts me, too.
We have been listening to a lot of Mumford & Sons since we went to their show this weekend. (We met Mumford! And a couple of Sons! They were so kind!). How (terribly) timely to have watched the video for Beloved earlier that day. I was already thinking of her- Nana, Grandma Ruth, Mom- and then the cereal comment at dinner.
I took a bath.
Cried a lot.
Went to bed.