Two years ago, I was working at the wine bar and a nice old lady came in. She instantly reminded me of my mom. She came to the wine bar to find a particular wine. I told her to have a seat where she was comfortable. I brought her the wine.
She viewed the menu of light bites and said the hummus looks good but she couldn’t eat all that. She asked if she could have a reduced version. I said yes. She thought it was wonderful. She said she’d been eating such good food and now she felt like she just needed to eat a piece of lettuce. She was very thankful for everything.
She asked if I was always this happy and I said, “I try.”
She said, “well, I didn’t know if you acted this way at work and then went home and kicked the dog.”
I told her no , I’ve got a daughter on the way and it’s hard not to be happy.
“She is going to be a special baby,” was the reply.
She said it’s hard not to smile when you’re around someone like me smiling. She said it reminded her of her husband, he was such a kind man. He passed away 3 years ago and today was their anniversary.
(As I write this today, it is three years from the day that my mom left her body)
They used to visit this wine bar, but today, she was there alone. She didn’t want to stop living and doing the things they used to enjoy.
I told her that it had been one year since my mom passed away. I can relate to that pain. I told her I was so happy to see her here today and happy to see her doing things she enjoyed.
I told her not to worry about the bill. I would take care of it.
She said “really? What a nice end to my visit. I’m so thankful. I hope my face shows how thankful I am.”
She said, “I’d hug you if I knew it wouldn’t offend you.”
I said it wouldn’t offend me and I gave her a hug. It was a real human connection that stuck with me. It was one of the very few good things that happened in those days, during the incessant flow of heedless guests asking the same questions, and ordering the same wine flights.
I miss my mom. I was showing my affection for my mother as I took care of Martha.