Meatball for breakfast

My mother should include "efficiency expert" in her resume. Quick, to the point, not wasting any time, tell it like it is ... all those things add up to "her". She even had my brother pack up all my Dad's things to donate within days of the funeral. I had to act real quick to get a scarf and a couple of ties as keepsakes. Mom had saved a few little trinkets for the kids, stuff that Dad had picked up from their many cruises that she had never cared for (Mom, remember, she's not all that sentimental or nostalgic). But other than that, and the most treasured of things that she kept for herself, most of it was toted away.

I suppose it was part of her dealing with the craziness of everything. She was still in a dream state, partially planted in reality, the other part of her still reeling in the thunder clouds.

So along those lines, Mom cleared up her pantry before she went for her month long trip to Hong Kong. And she passed me this:



Seems my Mom, not a huge fan of a lot of different cuisines, doesn't like Spaghetti and Meatballs. Never did, never will. So my father would pick up a can of this every so often, to get his 'fix".

I told Mom that this would go over well with the L-boy for lunch. And I had to smile.

Dad was just such a big kid at heart.

I have great memories of having a fantastic time with him when we were young.

Mom took all the part-time shifts as a nurse while we were in school, and honestly, the evenings she was working were often the most fun of our childhood. Dad would take us to the pizza joints, the fried chicken restaurants, the burger places, out for fish and chips, anything and everything our little hearts desired. For although Dad could cook (amazingly well, actually, for years even better than Mom), he loved junk just as much as we did.

I remember our trips to the pop Shoppe to pick up all manner of candy coloured soda; chasing my sister through the aisles at the hardware store as he picked up things that he would just store in the toolbox, rarely to use. His toys for his collection.

We would sit in the front seat with him in his baby blue T-bird as we went from place to place. Playing with the radio dial, laughing and joking while he told us to sit still. Trying to play with the switches for the electric window, watching as my little sister opened the door and almost fell out of the moving car in the parking lot while Dad was oblivious to our screaming (what's one type of scream compared to the other when you're dealing with 6 and 4 year old girls?). My sister still thanks me to this day for saving her life. Such fond memories. None of which we were allowed to share with Mom, of course.

So the other morning as I cooked up the can's contents to pack in the boy's Thermos for lunch, I saved myself a little morsel.

And when the kids had gone to school, I ate it. In memory of Dad.

I haven't enjoyed canned meatballs since I was about 8 years old.

But this was the most delicious meatball I've had in a great while.

*****

This coming Saturday would have been my parents' 45th wedding anniversary.

I wish we could celebrate joyously as we normally would; and yet I sit here in sadness, my heart so heavy with dread for my Mother.

And I wonder if this sadness will ever really go away.