Every day I go to the same coffee shop and order the same thing. It is one of those constants in my life. Iâ€™ve written about it often because honestly, it is sometimes the best part of my day.Â This morning I was running late and there was a line at the counter that was moving REALLY SLOWLY (probably not, perception is weird) so I stood and shuffled my feet in the line until it was my turn.
They know my order:Â medium house coffee to go.Â Yes, it is a coffee shop, not a Starbucks. No fancy names.Â I noticed that right before she took my order the woman behind the counter filled the thermal carafe with cream.Â She then asked me if I took cream in my coffee, which I thought was weird since it wasnâ€™t part of the normal ordering process. It took me a second to realize that she was going to give me the cream and have me take it over to the table where that stuff is kept.Â I then offered to do just that for you.
â€œOh, you are a very nice man,â€ she said.
â€œMy mom raised me to be nice,â€ I responded.
â€œI canâ€™t wait until you bring her in to get her own medium coffee so I can tell her she did a good job.â€
It was a beautiful sentiment. I tend to be blunt about my motherâ€™s passing only because I get caught up in a fantasy world where she still is alive.Â I will have a wave of guilt because it has been weeks since I called her. Â That feeling will then be replaced by a feeling of incredible loss.Â Not as crushing of a feeling as the weeks after her death, but it is still a gaping void in my life. Â I didn’t ruin the moment by stating the cold fact.
See, hereâ€™s the thing. I have always been proud of my mother. I was never the kid, even teenager, who didnâ€™t want to seen with his mom.Â One of my fondest memories was the time my mom took me to a haunted house in East Helena. There were kids from my class there and they were all so cool going it alone and I was going through with my mom.Â Halfway through, my Mom was gently herding everyone through, all of us terrified. Thatâ€™s my mom.
While I was never proud of the house I lived in and dreaded friends seeing it, I was never ashamed of my mom.Â I honestly do wish I could bring my mom to the coffee shop and introduce her to the women who give me my coffee every day.Â Theyâ€™d see how awesome she was and by the transitional property see how awesome I am.Â She never got a chance to visit me in Chicago and be a part of my life here. While I sincerely doubt sheâ€™d enjoy most of what I like here, sheâ€™d be happy to see the friends I surround myself with.
I donâ€™t know what I intended to accomplish with this piece. Yet another tribute to my mother? Possibly.Â I have people in my life now that I really wish could meet my Mom. I feel like they could really benefit from pure unconditional love.Â Of all the lessons she tried to impart to me that I can give to the world, I think her pure sense of love is the most important for me to push forward.Â And for all my own struggles with love, I think I forget that at one time I was loved absolutely and unconditionally.