We were grocery shopping this afternoon and I had a loud request for cranberry juice. Mom always kept the stuff by the gallon here when she was alive, it was her favourite drink, and so it was also that of my children. The boy (as he was pleading for me to buy some) said that one of his first memories was of sitting in the chair and Nana bringing him a glass of cranberry juice so they could sit and watch Mary Poppins.
The closer we get to this final internment the more I realize how far I have still to go in the grieving process for my mom. I mean, I’m still in the middle of grieving my dad. Yet here we are, and I’m glad they will be buried together as they belong together. I’m also glad we have all of these memories to share of the love they blessed us with.
Because it was so much more than cranberry juice. It was the gift of time and love that she gave the kids (and us). She loved having us all around, she loved sharing time with her grandchildren, she loved how they enjoyed doing things with her.
I’ve been thinking a lot about love, unconditional love, true love, lately. Whatever ups and downs, bumps in the road, or issues we had – I always knew that my parents loved me unconditionally. It’s a rare gift to grow up knowing that you are loved no matter what, and one that I am able to pass onto my kids because I know how to do it, because I was shown it and I was taught it. And the kids have the memories of that in little things like cranberry juice.