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, she eagerly waited, 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 spoons of sugar. I curiously watched as she raised her cup for that first sip. Before I could witness her supreme delight, a few drops would spill on her clothes. She always smiled, as if nothing happened. I too, pretended that I didn't see a thing. I knew her shaky hands were caused by Multiple Sclerosis.
One day, I asked if I could have a sip of her coffee. She smiled and handed me her cup. First, I inhaled the aroma, then I took my first sip. It was sweet, just like her.
Oh how I miss those precious moments with her. God must have needed her special talent for making liquid gold in heaven. Surely, she is serving up a cup of joy and smiles to all the new recruits, as we speak.
She's 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 you!
It's been 25 years since my Mama passed, and I still get teary-eyed when I speak about her. 
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