If she were here, or I would there, this is what I would give her for Mother’s Day. This is how our day would goMe (bleary eyed, coming down the stairs into the living room): “Morning! I was hoping to beat you up this morning, but somehow I never can.”
Momma (sitting in her chair in the living room, wearing her robe, her one leg tucked under the other, coffee cup in hand): “How did you sleep? There’s coffee.”
Me: “Oh good. Thanks!” (walks into kitchen, gets mug from cupboard, pours coffee, sits down on sofa)
**sip** sip**rustle of the paper** sip**sip**rustle**stare into space**sip**
Me: “I’m going to go make breakfast. (Momma starts to get up) You stay here, I got it.”
And then, I would make you the thing that I make when I miss you. The first thing that comes to mind (food wise) when I think of you. The thing that saw us through tough times and sunny afternoons.
An egg sandwich. On good (or decent depending on the week/month/year) bread, with mayo and thick slices of tomato. Runny yolk. Cut in half.
And we would eat around the table, after pouring ourselves 2nd cups of coffee. The sun would stream in from the window in the breakfast nook and bounce off the painting on the wall. And the sheer curtains in the dining room would billow out with the breeze. And the birds would chirp. And we would contemplate what flowers to buy and plant in the garden.
Happy Mother’s Day to the woman who taught me to fin magic of the smallest, simplest things; like a good egg sandwich.