This morning in between meetings I stopped in our office’s pantry for a cup of coffee. We have one of those fancy machines that makes cappuccinos, lattes and espresso. Since I try to avoid dairy, I usually stick with an Americano and throw in a splash of unsweetened almond milk (yeah we have that too).
I grabbed a cup out of the dispenser and placed it on the machine’s holder, pushed the button and listened as it commenced its grinding and brewing cycles.
As my coffee started to fill my cup about 3 seconds later, I looked into its dark richness and realized Anthony will never have another cup of coffee with me. Tears welled up quickly.
I had to hold it together. Too many people nearby. I was at work. I prefer to cry in private.
The small memories are starting to build up and produce the most tears. Coffee…
There will be no Saturday mornings that I nag about him using too much creamer in his cup. Leaving an empty bottle for his brothers and me. He never failed. It was a ritual.
He will never get to share in another Starbucks run, as was our tradition everytime we went to the mall. Caramel frappucino for him. He always knew my drink by heart. Latte macchiato with coconut milk. Hot. Once at the mall, we always went to Macy’s. I had a coupon. Always.
I like my coffee strong, it has to taste like coffee. He liked it “light and sweet.” I always told him that diluting coffee’s purity with milk and tons of sugar defeated the entire purpose of drinking it, but that’s the way he liked his cup. He tried mine one time. The sheer “Yuck” on his face said it all.
He was never going to be a coffee purist like his Mom.
I had hoped one day to change his mind… If only we had one more Starbucks run left… Maybe there was a chance I could break his “light and sweet” habit… Get him to enjoy coffee the way it was meant to be… Now I will never know.
Knowing you will never have the chance to try, stabs you in the heart.