One Last Picture

She lays peacefully in her hospital bed, eyes closed. Her hair, a little thinner, a little whiter than I remember it, frames her quiet face. And the look on that face, one of serenity mixed with pain, helps me remember.

"Everything's better with butter," she used to say. And I have found this to be true in just about every case. Because of her, I refuse to smear my palette with that vile substance known as margarine (though I did dabble in it for awhile). Because of this simple statement, I know that if I bake a cake, or make cookies, or fry chicken it will be heavenly.

Is it the healthiest thing on earth for you? No, not at all. But if you look at more than just fat or cholesterol content and take the time to read the actual ingredients, you'll see that with margarine, you may as well be ingesting embalming fluid.

Plus, it doesn't even compare when it comes to taste.

When she cooked with butter, she didn't go crazy. It was like she had a sense, perhaps developed over the many years of raising a family, of exactly how much to put into something. It was never too heavy or light. It was just right. Every time.

I also remember the holidays, and looking forward to a real treat. Homemade Chex mix (hey look, butter).

Chex, the very people who advertise this recipe, the people who manufacture and SELL Chex Mix, can not even begin to compare to the delicacy that came from her kitchen. They had to resort to varying flavors and gimmicks. But even their own "Bold" flavor pales in comparison.

Peanuts, almonds, pretzel sticks, and of course the various types of Chex went into her recipe. I know I'm leaving some things out, but no matter. The content wasn't what made it so superb, so mouth watering.

I question whether or not she followed the exact recipe. What I am certain of, however, is that she either baked it longer or at a slightly higher temperature than the folks at Chex suggest. And again, her sense of butter content had to have made a difference.

Her Chex mix was browned to perfection. No doubt it came from years of making it, but this browning of the various ingredients simply infused them with flavor. It was like a shotgun blast: seasoned salt, Worcestershire sauce, garlic and onion powders united in a wave of pure decadence that threatened to blow your face through the back of your head.

Even as I am writing this, the simple thought of it is making me salivate like Pavlov's pup. I have not had this particular treat in, I'd say, well over 10 years. At least. But the euphoric flavor still lingers, still maintains it's grip on my taste buds.

I remember eating this same Chex mix as we traversed the zoo at Christmas time. Walking in the chill air, the beauty of the lights and decorations amplified by the snow on the ground. Many of the animals didn't come out, but I don't think that was the point. The point was simply to spend time with people that you loved.

I remember, vaguely, being surrounding outside by the people loved ones and seeing "Seven Brides for Seven Brothers" for the first time. It was cold out and I remember there was a dusting of snow. But we braved it and watched this movie, along with the puffs our breathe made, while drinking hot chocolate.

I remember smiling, that great big smile that so rarely comes to my face anymore. The one that makes my eyes tear up because no matter how big the smile there is still joy aching to burst out.

That smile is elusive, but it's still there. Remembering, even if only in fragmented stills and clips, that day is the reason why I love that movie. It's the reason why, even if I feel like everything is falling to pieces and I can't do anything right, I can watch it and feel a sense of warmth, love, and hope.

I feel these things because the first time I saw this movie it is what I was surrounded by. And no matter how hard life seems, I can think of the lyrics "We ain't met yet but I'm a-willing to bet, you're the gal for me", apply it to the world in general, and have a smile come to my face.

That "gal" could be a new job, or a destination, or a goal, or yes, even an actual girl. When I think of the purity of the joy I felt that day, I don't worry as much about things. After all, we just "ain't met yet", whoever or whatever that meeting will be with.

I've never explained that before. Ever. So while some people consider musicals to be for sissies, or think they're stupid, and can't stand 7B47B, it means so much more to me than I can put into words. That's why you'll still hear me humming the tune from that first song. Because this movie is actually about those feelings for me.

And I remember being loved.

I remember being tucked into a springy, bouncy twin bed. There was one pillow, a sheet, and a yellow blanket.

I remember being cozy and warm and being read to at night. It was usually a short tale from one of the Childcraft books. Often some kind of fairy tale or fable or an adventure of sorts would whisk me off to dreamland. But I never fell asleep until it was over.

She wasn't usually the one who read them. But the one who did made me feel loved, too.

And I feel like I let them down. Not in the sense that my life isn't right or that I'm not living it, but rather because I didn't take enough time to tell them both how I felt.

He died, the one who read to me, a few years ago. I never got another chance to tell him. He is my Grandad, and I love him.

And I had the opportunity to tell her then, but I didn't. And then she moved farther away.

Each year I said the same thing. "I'll get down there when I can." Or: "I'll try to make it there for (insert holiday here)." And even: "I'll definitely get down there this year."

But I didn't.

I always found an excuse not to go. I had too much going on. I couldn't afford the trip.

She looks peaceful, laying in the hospital bed. And I remember why I should have gone. I remember why I should have gone years ago, why I should have made the time and saved the money.

Because she is laying in a hospital bed, her face serene with just a touch pain. She is laying in a hospital bed, holding still for one last picture.

She is my Granny, and I didn't tell her. She is my Granny, and I love her.