Grandma with Rosie, June 2012.
Today my grandmother, after a bout of pneumonia, had a feeding tube inserted. She will never "eat" another meal again.
I can't stop thinking about that.
About food, and what nourishes us; about breaking bread, and about doing it together; about Eucharist, and how every bite is grace; about life without these rituals of obtaining food, preparing dishes, eating a meal, and washing up.
About the turkey and gravy over biscuits she always made the weekend after Thanksgiving. About the nutty healthy cookies she kept in the freezer in case we came over.
About Last Suppers, and how I hope she had one worth remembering, and how I want her to know that every bite of bread, broken, is forgiveness; that every sip from the shared cup can be hope, sweet on the tongue.
Grandma with her mother and with me, June 1981.