As I sit here on my lunch break at work tonight
I dig into the first pot pie I’ve had in years
Daydream of my childhood
When my mom would make pot pies for dinner
When we had blueberry pie and vanilla ice cream for a treat
.
.
I didn’t know then
What a simple pot pie would mean to me now
.
.
I didn’t know before
The warmth of this pot pie
Would also bring warmth to my heart
.
.
Remembrance of the family I lost
The time we had together
The aroma of laughter
And a stomach full of stability and peace
.
.
Pot pies, apparently remind me of my mother
Of the days when she was my mommy
Of the long evenings playing in the backyard
Of the living room workouts
Of the halloween costumes that she would make from scratch
Of the movie dates
Of karate class
When she would cheer me on from the side lines hoping I would eventually throw a punch
Of the leotards for gymnastics
Of the cartwheels I couldn’t do
Of the long sushi lunch
.
.
It all reminds me of her
Of my little hand in hers
Of our chubby fingers
And our chubby toes
.
.
Laughing about the little things that only her and I know
.
.
Pot pies remind me a lot of my mother
.
.
When she would call us in for dinner
Dance her way around
With hugs strong enough to smother
.
.
When she would sit us all down
Sing her way to the freezer
And then surprise us with dessert
.
.
Neversilencethemadness.com
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