Would You Like Some Oatmeal, Pa?

It is time for breakfast and my thoughts turn toward oatmeal. It was always a favorite growing up, although I was partial to my mom’s version; never sticky and goopy, always smooth and a bit runny, with a sprinkle of brown sugar on top. Like her signature kiss to bless a new day. Over the years I added blueberries and nuts, and when I was home for a visit, my mom always made sure these new toppings were ready for my mornings spent with her and my dad.

Until six months before his passing, my dad played golf three days a week, rising early and leaving the house by 7 am. But the mornings he was home, I’d come downstairs and round the corner into the living room to see him dressed in a golf shirt and shorts, or in winter pants and a sweater, often with the fireplace flames warmly dancing, sitting in his recliner and playing the crossword puzzle in the Northwest Florida Daily News. We would exchange the same greeting, “Good morning, Pa!” to which he would reply, “How’s it going, Girl?” I would then proceed into the kitchen to begin my tea-making routine. Within a few minutes, he would either ask me if I wanted an egg for breakfast (he made the best), or I would ask if he wanted oatmeal.

Most mornings, my mom would be sitting on the couch reading her Bible and observing our interactions, but she was content not to interfere and let this be just a dad and daughter time. Her heart delighted to see my sisters and me spending time with my dad, and none of us realized the days were so fleeting and how important these small memories would be to carry us through our current days.  

So, today, as I’m making oatmeal, I’m thinking of my dad and missing him more than most mornings. In my attempt to relive those special moments, I literally call out as I retrieve the ingredients from the pantry, “Hey Pa, would you like some oatmeal this morning?” And I long to hear him reply, “If you’re making some, I’ll have a bowl.” I set out two bowls, measure the oatmeal, and turn on the stove. And I reach for my mom’s wooden spoon that has stirred many bowls of oatmeal and many fond memories, one of the many treasures I brought home after her passing. And I sprinkle a teaspoon of brown sugar on top; a kiss from my mom that blesses this day.