I woke up this morning feeling a bit sorry for myself. I was thinking about how badly I wanted to wake up next to Jason and obnoxiously pry one of his sleepy eyelids open while interrogating him about where we would be eating brunch. We almost always went to brunch on Sundays and if we didn’t go to brunch, then it was only because he was either out of town, recently home from being out of town or preparing to leave for an early morning flight out of town. I wish he hadn’t spent so much time out of town…but then he didn’t know how limited our time was either.
We cycled through our breakfast hangouts, usually visiting the same place Sunday after Sunday until eventually deciding the coffee was crap. We never tired of the Huevos Rancheros from Village Tavern though, and even suffered through the mediocre coffee for the melty cheese and roasted potatoes. I haven’t been to Village Tavern in over four months and going without Jason just doesn’t feel right. I don’t think the Huevos Rancheros would taste the same now anyway. I always ate them sitting next to Jason or across from him. I’m not sure I would enjoy them as much sitting alone at the bar. I would probably tell myself that the kitchen skimped on the salsa or that the eggs weren’t as fluffy…but I would know the truth about why they didn’t taste the same. And then I would just be longing for something no longer possible. The taste of Huevos Rancheros with my husband.
Although I deeply miss the Sunday mornings with Jason, I am very grateful for my new Sunday ritual – eating lunch or dinner with one of my best friends from long ago…way before Jason and I ever met…and back when I still considered vodka to be part of the food pyramid. We lost touch over the years just because life got in the way, as it usually does. We reconnected after Jason died and she understands because she lost her mom almost two years ago. Our friendship now is much deeper and deliberate than it was 10 years ago. We still talk about things like our dogs’ protrusive fleshy skin tags and our unquenchable love for bacon, but now we can also have conversations about far more meaningful topics, like forging ahead with life and those things that keep us motivated.
I realize this new Sunday ritual is a direct result of both of us losing something priceless in our lives, but I don’t believe the Universe takes something away from us without replacing it. I’m really glad I have something to look forward to on Sundays again.