A couple of days ago, we had a left over hamburger patty from a weekend cook out. Donna asked me if I wanted it for lunch (I did) and so she sliced the cold meat into flat strips and put them between two slices of bread rather than a hamburger bun, along with the usual condiments. I took a bite and was instantly transported back to the fourth grade in Orlando, Florida.
Hamburger sandwiches were something that my mother sometimes sent to school with me in my brown bag. Later on I realized it was a way of stretching one hamburger patty into two sandwiches--one for me, one for her. On those days when I opened my lunch bag at school, it was like a treat to find the hamburger sandwich: bread, meat, mayo, mustard, pickles. It made me feel so warm and loved.
That's exactly how my mother made everyone feel. Not just me and my sisters, but cousins, friends, neighbors, and later on, her grandchildren. Unfortunately, she was gone before any of the great-grandchildren came along.
On March 9, 1998, mom suffered a respiratory arrest, never regained consciousness and died peacefully around 5:30pm on March 11. She was only 70 years old. Don't know that she ever knew how important those brown bag hamburger sandwiches were to me.
Love you mom, and miss you every day.
Blessings,
Ken
2 comments:
Ken, this is a wonderful tribute to your mom. I know she knew how important those sandwiches were. She was a very smart lady~! Not only that, she was a just all around sweetie!
paula
Love that you share your memories with all of us... you continually make me grateful for what and who I have in my life and provide a sense of peace and comfort when I am missing those that are gone. Thinking of you (as always) but especially this week.
Take care,
Jules
xoxo from the boys!
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