After church, I was completely exhausted. I nearly fell asleep on the car ride home. I had a headache as well, which didn't aid in my staying alert and awake, so when we finally were home, Jake suggested that I take a nap.
We laid next to each other a while, as he felt the baby move, and I drifted in and out of sleep.
At one point, shortly before I finally crashed, he asked me what I was thinking.
"I was thinking about when my grandmother owned the Lamberton Cafe and she would let me have a piece of warm apple pie with cinnamon ice cream."
It was a very random thought, and though I wasn't sure where it originated, it became an all encompassing memory in just seconds.
"On Sundays?" he asked.
"Any time really." I replied. The tears started to flow, and he asked what was wrong. "I just... miss her."
I broke into sobs. I couldn't stop crying. I kept thinking about the scent of warm apple pie and cinnamon ice cream, how it had been so long since I had the delicious combination (I had it after she sold the cafe so many years ago, but it has still been quite a while). I kept thinking about the baking we would do together, the enticing, welcoming, comforting aroma that would flood her kitchen and the entire house as she created some of the most delicious baked goods.
And, of course, I could not stop thinking about spending that time with her, learning from her, helping her, hoping to grow up and be like her.
Then, the overwhelming sadness flooded through me, in that she had been so excited for Jake and I to be dating, then engaged, then married, and then hoping for and trying to start a family... and... she is missing out on the pregnancy, and will miss out on the birth, and seeing our family actually grow. The pain is truly raw, when I think that she will not be visiting us at the hospital with the rest of the family. She will not hold our baby boy. I will not hear her say his name.
I truthfully haven't baked much since she past in 2007. It's an unconscious thing mostly, as well as the fact that I'm alone often and don't see the point in making something fresh and not being able to share it right out of the oven. Perhaps, I should start.
I'm hoping, though, one of these days, Jake and I will be out and about, and we'll come upon a place where they sell warm apple pie and cinnamon ice cream... either that, or maybe, just maybe, we'll have it at home. I cannot wait for the aroma that I will always associate with those warm, happy, grandmother-granddaughter memories.