Milk, No Sugar

I’m holding my tear-streaked face in my hands when the scent of coffee begins to waft through the air. That warm bitter smell combined with the bubbling sounds of the old Mr. Coffee machine instantly begins to soothe my troubled teenage soul. I look up to see Nana pull two mugs out of the cabinet and arrange them on a small tray with milk and sugar. I watch this ritual, shared by all the women in my family, until the coffee finishes brewing and Nana pours two steaming mugs. Sitting down across from me, she hands one to me. I begin to add copious amounts of sugar and milk. I have just begun to drink coffee and am desperate to mask the bitter taste. My determination to be a part of this custom, however, matches my enthusiasm with the sugar.

I lift the sugar bowl to pass it to Nana. She holds up her and, politely declining.

“No thanks, my love. Milk, no sugar for me.”

Grimacing at the thought, I set the sugar bowl down.

Nana takes a sip, then looks at me. “Now, tell me what happened at school today that has upset you so much.”

Tears instantly refill my eyes. “Oh Nana, I don’t know how to fix this.” I sob into my mug as I begin to tell my story. When I finish, she reaches up, brushing my hair off my face and smiles.

“My dear” she says, “When life gets tough, and it will, always know that you will have a place at my table. I’ll keep the coffee on.”

My diamond-clad hand shakes as I wrap it around the warm paper cup. These days my coffee is mixed with far less sugar than when I was sixteen, but I still like it sweet. I am curled into a chair in the trauma center of the hospital, Nana sitting next to me. She rubs my back and strokes my head, while I weep. This afternoon I received a call from the police informing me that my fiancé had been in a serious accident and may never walk again. Nana kisses my head after the surgeon leaves, asking me if I’m ok.

“Oh Nana, I don’t know how to fix this.” I say through tears. “We haven’t even begun our life together yet.”

Nana, adding milk to her paper cup of coffee, sighs her knowing sigh. “No matter what happens” she soothes, “I am here for you. I will do everything I can to help you and support you, no matter what.” She continues, “Remember, my dear, when life gets tough, and it has, always know that I am here for you. I’ll keep the coffee on.”

I exasperatedly scoop espresso into the press, bleary-eyed and sore. I try to fit it into my state-of-the-art espresso machine but just can’t seem to get it to cooperate. Perhaps the machine is as tired as I am. After all, both me and the machine have been working overtime since my husband, and I brought Josephine home.

I give up trying, collapsing into my exhaustion. “Oh Nana” I sigh, “I don’t know how to fix this.”

Josie has finally stopped crying as Nana finishes swaddling her. Her gnarled, weathered hands expertly tucking the corners of the receiving blanket. She gently sets the bundled baby into the bassinet, wincing as she stands.

“My love” she says, making her way to the old coffee put I’ve pushed aside to make room for the espresso machine, “Let me brew a pot, then we can head out to the porch for a bit while the baby sleeps.”

I agree but try to brew the coffee myself to allow Nana the chance to rest. She politely shoos me away while she scoops the grounds into the filter. “Go spend some quiet time on the porch swing and I’ll bring you a cup.”

I begin to head outside when she looks up, slightly confused. “Remind me again how you take it. I’m not sure why I can’t remember.” She says shaking her head a bit.

I try my best to mask any concern that may have crossed my face. “Milk, one sugar, please.”

Nana comes out with two mugs, handing one to me before settling into the swing next to me. “Remember, my dear, when life gets chaotic, and it is, always know that I am here for you. I’ll keep the coffee on.”

My husband finds Nana and I this way when he gets home from work. Striding across the lawn, he climbs the porch steps giving Nana and I both a kiss on our cheeks. “What would we do without you?” He asks Nana with a sweet smile.

I shakily press the brew button on the old Mr. Coffee, still churning out pot after pot even after all these years. I sigh as I breath in the warm, comforting scent. I knew this day would come eventually, but I’m just not ready. When the machine gurgles to a stop, I pull two mugs out of the cabinet. I add in the coffee and milk into both, all the while knowing deep down that she won’t be able to drink it. I quietly make my way into the room where Nana is sleeping. The hospice nurse looks up from her paperback when she sees me. She stands, offering me her chair. “I gave her morphine about an hour ago. It shouldn’t be long now. I’ll leave you to spend some time with her.” She says, squeezing my hand before leaving the room.

I set Nana’s coffee down on the nightstand. Brushing her hair off her face, my tears fall onto her nightgown. “Oh Nana, I don’t know how to fix this.” I sob.

I take her cool hand into mine and whisper, “Remember, when I meet you in heaven, and I will, I’m going to wrap you in the biggest hug and we’re going to catch up on everything we’ve missed. So, save a spot for me at your table and keep the coffee on. I’ll take mine with milk. No sugar.”