Spearmint Gum

I love spearmint gum. Don't get me wrong, the flavor is not particularly remarkable. Spearmint, as a taste, is not enough to do much for me. But the experience of unwrapping a thin pack of five, silver wrapped, pieces of chewing gum sets a spark in my mind. To the rest of the world it may be the most common thing in the world, but to me It is the ignition of something much more. Opening the door to another place.

In 1989, more than halfway through my eighth grade year, my grandma died. In the days leading up to it, I told myself and my brother it would be OK. I never really understood how sick she was. I only remember one day, just days before, when she looked sick. We couldn't really hug her because of the pain it caused. Then she was gone. This is not what the gum brings to mind.

In the aftermath, I remember crying, wanting to see her, wanting to be strong. I watched as my Mom, who was so close to her mom, was reminded by everything around her about this void. I read, what may be the best piece of writing my Dad ever did, about an Astronomer watching a star he loved burn out. He was grieving too. I learned, for what sees like the first time, how people deal with loss. This, also, is not where spearmint gum takes me.

The reason I love the gum so much, is it as a passport back. It is before the illness, before the days of grieving. It is a way for me to be face to face with someone I haven't seen in more than 20 years. Someone I can almost hug, without the pain.

I don't know the exact date of the memory, but I am around ten years old. My brother and I fidget in the seats of the little, maybe even makeshift, church my grandparents attend. My grandfather leads the dozen or so people who are there in "It is Well with my Soul". He is a little too loud, but Grandma, who plays the piano, is perfect. When it is time for the pastor to speak, she comes to sit by us. She is not upset by our lack of attentiveness, she doesn't act concerned by our hushed conversation. Instead, she offers each of us a piece of the gum she always carried. Spearmint gum.

This grandmother, the grandmother brought to mind is not tarnished. She doesn't get upset, she quiets you with treats. She makes crazy, fun breakfasts out of normal things. She beats my Dad at Scrabble and plays instruments by ear. This woman, caught in the amber of my mind, is healthy and loving and perfect.

As I draw the flavor out of the gum, I can feel her.