Boiled peanuts. Something my father and I loved to eat together. The last time we ate them together was about a year ago in February 18th or 19th. He had gone into Hospice the first of February. He fell a few days before he was supposed to go into the assisted living and was staying in Hospice care for a few days. During this time I would go and see him, sit with him and we would just talk, about nothing in particular.
One day I brought a bag of boiled peanuts Mom had out up three weeks before she died. We sat there, in that beautiful Hospice room that was designed to look like a real bedroom, ate Mom’s boiled peanuts together. It is one of the most precious last memories I have of him and us spending time together.
After we were done eating them, he was tired, so I got up to throw the bag away. Being the klutz that I am, I spilled the boiled peanut water, slipped on the slick wet floor and landed square on my bum. There was actually a large bruise where I landed.
This is a hard month for me, as the first anniversary of Dad’s death is approaching, and with it comes all the memories, good and bed, associated with it.
A dear friend who knew my father, and who has known me since I was 14, decided to send a gift. There are times in life where people just surprise you. Today was a day like that.
Soon a bag of boiled peanuts will arrive at my door. A bag that I will eat and think of my father, and the last time we shared them. I grew up eating boiled peanuts with Dad, and this year, this anniversary, I can pay tribute, as corny and as silly as that sounds. Boiled peanuts and a beer. Nothing better in the whole world.
So comments from the Peanut Gallery are entirely welcome. And I am thankful for my friend who is sending such a sweet and thoughtful gift during this time. It is truly the simple things in life that warm the soul, touch the heart and bring a smile.