Change Is Brewing by James Mitchell

I’ve never really liked coffee.  This is blasphemy to some people.  I have tried, though.   It has always been too bitter for my liking.  I’ve also tried to like Earl Grey tea, because you know, Captain Picard always ordered it.  That didn’t work either.  However, coffee has recently taken on some powerful importance in my life.

If there is a king of coffee drinking in southeast Michigan, it is my Dad (I’m sorry, Jason, you just don’t have the long-toothed resume in this game that my father has).  I have seen him finish a cup of coffee left overnight in the car cup-holder.  We could not go to the mall and pass the Coffee Beanery without a stop in.  I do not ever remember a time when he didn’t drink coffee all day and into the night.

He never pushed me to drink coffee.  When I tried it he was encouraging, but by no means pushy.  When I decided I didn’t like it, there was no recrimination.  All that aside, I knew there was something to this world of bean worship, but I’ve always stood on the outside.

I have come to enjoy coffee gradually.  This is due in part to a gentle reintroduction by Jason.  That evening was covered in an earlier post on this blog.  Here is my part of the story.

This summer, Megan, the kids and I went on vacation to Virginia with the Smiths, the McCunes and the Tiilikainens.  It was hectic, fun and educational.  The one thing that it lacked was a better connection with the people we spent time with.  Many of the interactions seemed strained, like we were trying to build an experience together that just didn’t seem to click.  I didn’t give it much thought at the time, but that is my final evaluation of the experience.  I spent a lot of money and time, but I didn’t feel our families were any closer.

Upon returning home, Jason and I resumed our accountability discussions in the morning.  There was some displeasure expressed about the conduct of my children during the vacation.  Messes were made and not attended to.  The kids were allowed to be a bit more unruly in discourse than they should have.

This was hard to hear in two parts.  Firstly, most of the time when our kids interact with adults, they get glowing compliments, and have ever since.  Secondly, I knew that the complaints were valid and that we had likely ruined any chance we were going to be invited to another gathering of this group of friends.  What could have been lifelong relationships made stronger had gone terribly awry.  I was heartbroken for two days and I moved on.

I was surprised to get a last minute call from Jason this fall.  All the same friends were in town for the weekend.  Would we like to come to dinner on Friday?  Stunned, but happy to see my friends, we went.  The story of the evening can be read here.

After dinner out, we retired to the Smith’s house.  I stood there with the cup of coffee that he had made for me.  Jason, as unsentimental as they come, was sharing something with me that was important to him.  He wanted it to be a drink I would enjoy.  It was very good.  It was a moment pregnant with meaning for me.  It will stay with me for the rest of my life.  Steve skillfully coaxing a song from a badly tuned piano.  Shelly singing beautifully and joyfully.  Megan and Amy talking about who-knows-what in the basement.  I sipped my coffee.

*****

My father is not dying.  He tells me this over the phone, but not in so many words.  He reports that his latest check-up for the return of cancer came back clean.  I am very grateful, but I don’t know what to say to adequately express to him how happy I am.

I know he is sitting in his chair in his living room.  Maybe the TV sound has been turned down.  There is a cup of joe on the end table.  The relief of the news has been his joy for a day now.  When he thinks about it, he wants to share it.  This moment, I am the one who comes to mind.  My joy in knowing that he wants to tell me is something else I can’t seem to express.

My grandmother is dying.  What has been a slow decline over years is now a steady decline.  The day before Dad’s check-up, I am visiting her.  She lives with her son, my Uncle Lauren.  While I am at their home, Aunt Sue offers me a cup of coffee.

This is stacked with powerful memories.  So many times we would gather at her house for family get-togethers and she never failed to offer Dad coffee.  At a point in time when so much in our family is about to change, I cling to that offer like a life preserver.  That cup of warmth and three sugars (to kill the bitterness) is just the thing to take the edge off my melancholy.  It is safe.  It is buoyancy.

I ask Aunt Sue what brand of coffee Dad likes.  She stocks for him what she knows he will like.  I am curious how close my tastes are to his.  Drinking Dad’s coffee is like wearing his big shoes as a child.

We talk about coffee very briefly and the topic turns, as it must, to matters of advanced age.  As we talk, she reminds me that Dad is 70 and that he may soon face some of the same problems that aging has brought to Grandma.  She wants me to soberly consider my responsibility to him when he can no longer care for himself.  It comes out a bit callously, but I understand why.  She is sorely taxed by the care and impending loss of Grandma.  The thought of taking care of her brother-in-law must be just too much to consider at a time like this.

Like parents to children, I don’t think our Aunts and Uncles ever fully see us nieces and nephews as adults.  While I haven’t been thinking of Dad’s end-of-life in an immediate sense, I have discussed with Megan the possibility that we may need to provide for all four of our parents at one time or another.  I assured Aunt Sue that it would be my responsibility.  I sipped my coffee.