Coffee with Mom
My mom is buried in a small church cemetery outside a little town in Indiana. Over the years, I have spent a lot of time talking to her, bringing her flowers, and tidying up her headstone. I’ve share news with her, and I introduced her to my children. Every time my children are with me, I take them around to “visit” all of our family who are buried close together.
While back home last fall, I did something with Mom I’ve never done before - we had coffee together. To be honest, I don’t think she was a coffee drinker. If I remember correctly, she was more of a tea gal. She wasn’t drinking anything that morning anyway, so I guess it doesn’t really matter.
On this particular Sunday, my dad was, as usual, one of the first people to arrive at church. He’s the one who makes sure the heat, or air, is turned on, the computer and projection system are up and running, and generally making sure all is well in the church. Since he had it all under control, I decided to walk down and visit Mom. For some reason I carried my coffee mug with me. I mean, I do usually carry my morning coffee with me wherever I go. But, not into the church I grew up in, and definitely not to the cemetery!
When I got to Mom and said my usual hi, it struck me that she and I never had the chance to have coffee together. She died when I was 13, so we were more on the sharing of McDonald french fries and cups of Tab level. Even then, I don’t remember Mom and I ever going out as just the two of us. For all of the friends and students whom I’ve sat across from, for all of the meetings over cups of coffee, for all of the Saturday morning coffee shop dates Eric and I have been on, it struck me that I never had that time with Mom. And it made me sad.
On that crisp Fall day, I decided it was time to have my first coffee date with Mom. I had had a difficult conversation with my dad and stepmom the day before. It hadn’t been planned, but it became clear to me on the drive up that it was a conversation we needed to have. As I sat there talking with Mom, I realized how much I missed out on having conversations with her, whatever they might have been about. I wondered how she would have reacted to some of them. What would she have thought? What would she have said? How “things” be different if she hadn’t died?
Alternate titles to this post included “Coffee in a Cemetery” and “Conversations with my dead mom.”
I recognize that some people think what I did was weird. Mom isn’t really there. I can talk to her anywhere, and I do. But, for those of us who can no longer sit across the table from our person, having a place to go and sit with them is a small way we can still have them in our lives. It’s a place where we can take our children and significant others and tell stories. It’s a place where we can be reminded that we are not just a blip in this world, but we are a part of a much longer story that goes back for generations. It’s a place where a little girl in a grown woman’s body can finally sit and have coffee with her mom.
Honestly, I don’t know why I write this or share this experience with you. I don’t have any real words of wisdom to offer. All I have is what struck me that day - there are many milestones and little moments I never got to share with my mom. There were pieces of advice and wisdom she never got to pass on to me. There are a lot of questions I have for her that will never be answered. But that day, we kinda-sorta had one of those moments. Nah, she didn’t answer any of the questions I asked her. I’m still waiting on her answer to what she would’ve done in a certain situation.
But, I want you to know that if you, like me, find comfort and feel the presence of your person while sitting in a cemetery, be still and soak it in. Don’t worry about others might think about what you’re doing. It’s what you need, and that’s ok.
If you ever want to get together and have coffee sometime, just let me know. I’d be honored if you would share stories about your person with me.
Peace,
Denise
