My father would rise early, even long after his retirement, somewhere around 6 am. Who knows why? He wouldn't make the coffee until I got up for school though. He loved to have company and a chat in the morning, though I was a miserable person in the morning. I, to this day, am not a morning person, often staying up until 2 am and rising around 10. I was grateful for the morning coffee, strong with good cream, no sugar. If we could only go back in time.
I did not see how lonely my father was and how he was trying to reach out to me, to have some one to converse with, to not be alone. He had become paraplegic and was wheelchair bound. It took time for the neighbours and friends to come around after the accident and he really had no one to share his thoughts with. My mother was not interested and occupied her time reading the Bible and painting or watching TV. As time progressed, and my father became more confident, the friends and neighbours came back. They were happy to have coffee with Peter or Pete as they fondly called him and came every day. But in the beginning, I should have been more ameliorative to his plight. I should have, but was not.
Now, I have that coffee pot, minus the glass top and every day I think of my father when I make coffee. Every day I miss him and wish things had been different. He taught me so much and I am grateful to have had him as my mentor. No, he was not perfect, far from it, but he was my hero. I was by his side holding his hand when he passed away. I was listening then, listening to every breath he took.
I will pass the old coffee pot on one day. Maybe those who have been close companions and shared my coffee will think of it one day, perhaps one of my children will inherit it. We should be like the coffee pot, slow to brew, tasty when ready and have no plastic parts. When you come over, I will make you some coffee in the old coffee pot, ok?