bon appetit

“What’s this stuff on the plate?  You got it too.”

“I — don’t — know.”

“I finally get a salad and now it’s filled with hard boiled eggs.”

“Pick ’em out.”

“Can’t.  Too many.  And they’re broken up.” 

“Maybe they thought they were doin you a favor —” 

 “I’m not even supposed to be here! — I’m supposed to be downstairs getting a permanent!!”

“Come and help me.”

“Will you come and help me?”

“Nurse.  Nurse!”

“This has hard boiled eggs.  I don’t like hard boiled eggs.  I want plain lettuce.”



“Just a few more sips, grandma.”

“Let’s go now.  Put me back to bed.”

“Drink a little more of your milk and we’ll go.”

“Italian, french and ranch are your choices.”

“I’ll take ranch.”

“I want my permanent.  Now!”

“Come and help me.”

“That’s good.  You’re doin good grandma.”

“They’re out of lettuce — will you take a bologna sandwich?”

“— oh for cryin out loud.”

When grandma was asked if she’d like to get up for dinner on May 1, her response was, “should we try it?  Let’s try it.”

She wasn’t referring to the cuisine.

In the remarkable way she had of never giving up she always found a way to make something good out of  whatever she had left. 

And that’s why it should come as no surprise that she used every last molecule of herself in her remaining days to put the finishing touches on the everlasting bond she created between the people she loved. 

When she took her last breath on May 11 and her body went flat beneath the sheet, my first thought was “there’s absolutely nothing left.  She’s left nothing on the table.”

But in the weeks that followed, I’ve found I couldn’t be more wrong.

She left us the most incredible feast of memories, relationships, and values imaginable. 

Bon appetit. 

Author: Julie Ann Stevens

My art flows from the patterns & paths of my lived experience which ⏤ like yours ⏤ are at once deeply personal and entirely universal.

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