This happened yesterday - and please know that I am not without humor for it.
Work was too busy to take lunch. One of the girls said they were ordering Jason's Deli and asked if I wanted in. Relieved that I might eat, I opted yes.
I ordered my usual: 1/2 ham sandwich, tomato basil soup and a cup of fruit.
It came. I ate.
I always save my fruit for last. I love fruit. And then it happened.
In my father's last days, while we were desperately trying to find nutrition that he could tolerate, he constantly wanted fruit. Fruit with every meal.
Feeding him was such a struggle for us. We didn't want to force him but when he could only eat a few bites at each meal we all felt helpless and broken.
The last time I saw my father I fed him.
I hate that I had to feed him like a child. He wasn't a child.
Fork in melon. Raise to lips.
Fork in grape. Raise to lips.
So, as I sat at my desk and opened a cup of fruit from the deli, nothing was really on my mind but work....until I stuck that fork into that grape.
I had to leave the room.
I may never eat fruit again. I will forever live wiht the wrath of grapes.
It crosses my mind that I may well be writing my own Morrie story.
I should look into copyrights and publishing.
6 comments:
PS Linny, I left you a note on the last post. :)
The legacy, those who go leave behind, is the memories. I've used the analogy of it being like reels of film, we can play at any time, taking us back for a spell. This one, with the fruit, isn't a happy one, but I know, you have millions of others that will make up for those and one day, you will be able to choose which reel to watch and it will feel so very special each and every time. That will be the one of the very special legacies, he has left you, along with his influence on who you are. You see, we didn't know him and we don't know your mom, and inspite of what you have told us all being wonderful, how we can really tell, he was a very special man is by the very special person that you are. Few like you, sweetheart.
Love the frac, hugs, love and thoughts, xxx
*smiles* You will eat fruit again, Agnes...and if you give it a bit of time it will be a sweet and nice reminder when this first time of grief have passed.
I tried to make a comment on your last post my morning today, but Blogger decided to stick out it's tongue and it simply wouldn't work. So I'm making up for it now ;)
Damn fruit.
My poor Agnes. It's like hearing a song that reminds you of an old relationship...broken and gone. At first any time the song comes on...you change the channel before too much of it soaks into your brain. Causing you to think of it...to think of the break-up, the pain...over and over again. And then one day...you hear the song on the radio and before you know it, you're singing along with the chorus. You will eat fruit again Agnes...it's just that next time you may stab the son of a bitch a lot harder. :0)
Aggie, how is the love of my blogging life? I miss you more than dirt misses a pair of white painters pants. Pull those boots out of the closet hon, I need my abso-f***ing-lutely gold hearted sexy woman back. A man can only go so long without the love of his blogger babe. Time to stop holding out darlin'. ;-)
Autumn, I think I needed to hear that. It gives me hope to know that I will (soon I hope) stop thinking of those last days and start remembering the ones before.
Thank you for keeping my eyes on better days ahead. :)
Christa, you and I seem to be in some blog twilight zone. Same keeps happening to me. Blogger apparently has a long tongue. LOL
Glad you finally beat it.
((((((((Tracey)))))))))) and XOXOXO too
Linny - "Damn fruit" EXACTLY!!! And dear gawd don't get me started on songs. I have to drive with the radio off for that very reason.
it's just that next time you may stab the son of a bitch a lot harder. YES! I believe next year's fruit harvest should be very afraid. ;)
Trée my love. I miss you like Texas misses rain.
I think of you always. It seems years, doesn't it??
How odd that it's only been a couple of weeks.
I look at that moon every single night though. Every night.
Soon love. Very soon.
Post a Comment