Her Sustenance

On Thursday our Creative Writing workshop meets for the first time this fall. 
As writers, we can be inspired by many things -- even a ham sandwich!

9.30.2012
Lunch, WWII Museum
New Orleans, Louisiana

It was as though someone had punched me in the stomach and given me the present I'd always wanted, both at the same moment.  For at that moment, as I tasted the ham and cheese sandwich on lightly toasted white bread, crust removed, cut into two triangles, slight bit of mayo, I could have sworn that my grandmother had made that sandwich.

I tasted the memories of a woman who was so dear to me, so absolutely wonderful, and so absolutely absent.  I looked around the restaurant, almost expecting to see her.  To hear her:  "Jennifer, you need to eat!"   I missed her so much I could barely stand it.  I could barely eat.

But I ate.  I ate because, with each bite of that sandwich, I consumed again all of the meals I had shared with my grandmother, first as a child on my favorite plate . . . as a moody teenager . . . as an energetic college student and then as a sleep-deprived law student . . . after my grandfather was no longer there at the table with us . . . as a new mother, twice over . . . until just a few years ago, around this time of the year, she left us unexpectedly.

I needed that sandwich like I need my grandmother.