I miss you.
Sometimes I forget that you’re gone, aided by the distance between Texas and Iowa. It’s easy to pretend you’re still 900 miles away, waiting for my family to descend so you have an excuse to go down the curly slide, cane and all.
Then I do something crazy, like bake, and the events of last November come flooding back.
Sunday it was banana walnut muffins. I had black bananas to use and figured, “Why not?”
The plastic jar is still labeled in your handwriting, listing the type and the date the cinnamon was made. My favorite, the Batavia Cinnamon, tells me you tested it on July 16th, exactly nine years ago.
I remember for years I had to reduce the cinnamon in recipes if I used it because it was so strong. Even now, NINE YEARS LATER, it is eons better than any I can get at the store.
I don’t think I will ever be able to smell cinnamon and not think of you.
It makes me smile, even as tears spring into my eyes.
I can never forget you.
I miss you, G-pa.
P.S. The kids loved the muffins.