Five months
Momma always made me the best breakfasts.
Like, to the point I preferred hers over eating out.
Since she died five months ago (omg), I mostly order a fuckload of breakfast sides once a week from one of the local diners. Heat the meats and then fry or scramble some eggs in the grease.
I know she’d be proud of my feeble efforts. But I also know that somewhere, she’s so sad that I don’t get anything made with love anymore.
Today I opened a pack of turkey bacon and fried up three pieces.
What she would always do is make three pieces of any sort of meat. She would make a beautiful egg and give me two pieces of the breakfast meat.
And then there would always be one extra piece of meat wrapped in a paper towel on the stove for me when I felt snackish.
I’ve noticed for five months, but never really put it together till today, that I always want some sort of after-breakfast treat.
Always chalked it up to just not feeling satisfied anymore.
And I usually end up killing a bag of popcorn or chips or chocolate that somehow is supposed to have six servings but hahahahah it’s really just one. Fatass.
Today I remembered, Mom always left me that “extra” so I could feel like I had dessert or whatever.
I still can’t believe she’s gone and yet so many people who are so dense that light bends around them refuse to die.