A Sweet Sign

Growing up, I admired my mother’s mother. She was smart, funny, quirky, and always treated us kids like adults. I felt an affinity with her; she was someone I could be myself around. My memories of her are old and indistinct, but she glows in anecdotes. She refused to drive below five miles over the speed limit, so that no one would think that she was a slow old lady. She pulled my older sister into the basement to share a mug of Bailey’s with her. The last thing I did with her before she died was watch Reno 911, a terribly crass TV show about bumbling police officers. She loved it. There was a day when I was young that she and I went through an old trunk of hers, holding each memory in our hands, much as I am doing now. She always kept a tray of York peppermint patties on the table by her couch, and she handed them out to us like kisses, until we were stuffed with their sweetness. For years after she died I was unable, and unwilling, to eat these candies. 

My uncle is coming out soon. I am so excited; this is the relative whose Peace Corps adventure beget my own. I grew up hearing about his time in Nepal, and knew from a young age that I would follow in his footsteps. In a token of my admiration for him, I got him a small gift. And as a token of my own recent refusal to budget properly, part of that gift came from the dollar store. When I returned to my home and opened the bag, I found two peppermint patties at the bottom. I know I hadn’t bought them. I believe they are a gift, a reminder of my grandmothers continued presence in my life, regardless of what separates us. 

Sometimes things are difficult, and sometimes nothing works out quite right. But sometimes the universe gives us exactly what we need, exactly when we need it.