Open Door Healing

My Aunt Petty passed away last week due to complications from brain tumor surgery. They knew it was iffy going in, but it was the only option, they had tried everything else. It is funny how our minds, well, ok, my mind works and what memories it brings up when situations happen. Eight years ago, I was helping my mom clean out her pantry in getting ready for my parent’s move from a 2400 square foot house in the country to a retirement center for military officers. They were moving into a 1200 square duplex. My mom is a pack rat (not to confused with being part of the rat pack!), although a very tidy one. She had twenty plus cake mixes in her pantry, mostly yellow and chocolate. I asked why she had so many, and she replied, “I’m in charge of the cakes at church for funerals.” I immediately quipped back, “Are you expecting a massacre?” She didn’t laugh. Evidently the sarcastic gene from her family had missed her, although my Uncle, my brother, me and now my son have it. My parents used to buy all their groceries at the base commissary, because, you know, everything is better at the base, and cheaper. One of the reasons the non perishable items are cheaper is because they are either expired or close to it. Almost all of the cake mixes mom had were expired, mosty by two years. I guess it didn’t bother her that she was feeding people bad cake. I’m actually giggling at that now , I am thinking it would be a great title for a book. It is not like they didn’t have a small grocery store within five minutes of their house, so if someone died, she could just drive down to the Super S and pay .10 cents more a box and they would not be expired. She doesn’t have much food stored now as two years ago my dad had a medical incident and is now in healthcare, which is a blessing because it was getting harder and harder for her to take care of him anyway, he is twelve years her senior, and she has been moved into assisted living, and is provided three good meals a day in the facility dining room. She has a little fridge in her apartment, and I looked in her freezer the other day and there were at least 10 styrofoam cups of ice cream that she had brought up from the dining room, I am sure she intended on eating them later, but has probably forgotten about them. And the journey continues.