I was 10 years old when I became keenly aware of my mother's love for coffee. She labored over a percolator, barely able to stand on her feet while leaning into the counter for balance, as she carefully measured the right amount of water and coffee grounds. When she was done, we both eagerly waited, for what seemed like an inordinate amount of time, for that little button on top to signal the perfect pot of liquid gold.
She layered her cup with cream and two spoonfuls of sugar. I curiously watched as she raised her cup to her lips for that first sip. Before I could witness her supreme delight, a few drops would always spill on her clothes. She smiled, as if nothing happened. I pretended I didn't see a thing, but I knew her shakey hands were caused by Multiple Sclerosis.
One day, I asked if I could have a sip of her coffee. She obliged, and we both smiled as I took my first drink. It was so sweet, just like her. With each taste, I breathed her in, as if the aroma of coffee was her sweet smelling perfume.
Those precious moments were cut short too soon. I think God must have needed her special talent in heaven for making liquid gold. Surely she is bringing smiles to many new recruits as we speak.
She is the cream in my coffee, and I'm still breathing her in with every cup of joe/joy. Happy Birthday Mama! Today, and every day, I celebrate your life and love for coffee.
It's been 25 years since my Mama passed, and I still get teary-eyed when I speak about her. 
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