Monthly Archives: January 2018

Sacred Space

Posted on by

coffee cup

Dad made coffee every day. He had a collection of coffee mugs—mostly Father’s day type mugs “Best Dad” “I Love My Grandpa”, but he had his favorite, the BIG Starbucks mug that seemed to hold half a pot of coffee. I remember I would find that half-full mug everywhere around the house. He always offered me a cup, and I usually turned it down as I rushed out of the house and made my way through the Starbucks drive-thru. On the occasions I did take him up on his offer, we would sit at the table and talk about life. I didn’t realize those would be the moments I would miss the most. It was the little moments that matter the most; that I miss the most and I wish I could have back again.
Now a days, I find myself standing in that same spot every morning and on most weekends making a second cup of coffee and then misplacing it somewhere around the house while I’m cleaning. I can’t help but smile and think of dad when I find my half-full mug in the most random places.
My morning coffee routine didn’t really start out as a coffee addiction, although I can’t seem to start a day without it, but after dad died I decided to keep his morning routine going.  I found that space to be calming it’s what I call dad’s sacred space, right there in my kitchen where he stood every morning. In that space he would inhale the hopes of the day and exhale away the mistakes and regrets of yesterday, it was a space where he prepared not just a cup of coffee, but where prepared himself for the day ahead and where he would invite me in. Dad’s routine was just a mundane routine when my life was so busy and fast and the little things were not important enough to notice or accept his invitation often enough.
What I have learned to embrace and cherish is that sweet spot of time and space when the house is quiet and the kids are asleep and all you can hear is the percolating sound of the coffee. I stand there in that sacred space, and I swear I feel daddy. I’ll close my eyes and I can feel his hand on my shoulder or just his presence in the room. I’ll inhale the hopes of the day and exhale the mistakes and regrets of yesterday and I’ll take a minute to be thankful for all the little things, the little moments I was too busy to notice before, right there in our sacred space.

sacred-space

Dad’s Coffee Pot

Posted on by
sacred-space

Dad’s coffee counter

 

Dad loved his coffee pot. It had some fancy filter, but for one reason or another, the spring would pop off the filter and he would take out his tools, jiggle stuff around and fix it. I didn’t really pay too much attention, but I would offer to buy him another pot, which of course, he would refuse and would say something like ‘Aye mijita, it’s still good, you just need to fix it every now and then’.

When dad was in the hospital, he drank his coffee, but would quietly say he couldn’t wait to get back to his coffee at home, probably because he could put as much cream and sugar as he wanted without the watchful eyes of the nurses. When we finally made it home, he went straight to the kitchen and made his coffee. I remember thinking, I should have paid more attention to how he made his coffee, but he made it clear he didn’t need any help and would be making his own coffee. At that point, he was still strong and walking around and could do things for himself. It was hard for us to reconcile the fact that he was dying, but as he would say “I’m not dead yet.” He tried to cut the tension with some humor, so as hard as it was for me to swallow that humor, I laughed out loud, but cried inside.

A few days later, we were in the kitchen together. He was making us coffee and I was sitting at the kitchen table. I was home on leave supposedly taking care of dad, but there he was in the kitchen, taking care of me. That fancy coffee pot filter popped off again. I fully expected him to just take out his tools and fix it, but he just stood there looking at the broken coffee pot. He finally picked it up and brought it to the table. It was like watching a movie in slow motion. I felt my face getting red and as he started to talk to me, I could tell he was trying to show me how to fix it, but I couldn’t hear him. I didn’t want to hear him. I told him I didn’t want to know and he looked at me said, “Mijita, I need you to learn how to fix the coffee pot now.” So, we sat there at the table and he showed me how to fix that damn spring. He made me do it twice before he gave the thumbs up. He walked me through how to make his coffee to his exact taste. We both held back tears. We didn’t acknowledge anything verbally in that moment, we just did what we had to do, he taught me, I learned and we had our coffee and talked about life. That was our father daughter dance, don’t ask me, don’t tell me, just show me. There were many things that we didn’t acknowledge verbally, but our actions of love, acceptance, and forgiveness spoke louder than words.

I remember the first time that dang coffee pot broke after he died. I stood there, in that same spot where dad stood every day and where I stood every day after that and I found the strength to fix that spring through tears and sobs. I was so proud of myself for fixing that coffee pot. I knew he was proud of me and I could feel his presence there with me.