I had a moment today. When I was in the Sobey’s in Spruce Grove, I realized, as I stood there in the bakery department, that I hadn’t been there since before my mom died. It was her local grocery store, and the one that she preferred. It was smaller and quieter than the other stores in the town and it also didn’t have any self check-outs. 

As I turned around, I saw the banana counter… And all I saw was my Mom standing there, looking at the bananas.

My mom ate a banana and a piece of peanut butter toast sprinkled with cinnamon every morning for breakfast, for as long as I could remember. She often sent us to the store to buy her bananas, and she liked them ‘just so,’ much like her Mom liked things ‘just so.’ They couldn’t be too big, too green, or too yellow, too spotty or too many in a bunch. 

I don’t know, as I stood there, my eyes welled with tears (much like they are now). And it seemed like such a silly thing to get welled up with tears about in the middle of the bakery department in the grocery store on a Sunday morning, as I stopped to get buns to head out to my sisters for the day. 

But it’s weird the way things in grief hit you when you’re least expecting it. As we approach the 6-month anniversary, my mom’s death, I’d always promised myself I wouldn’t get weird about grief when my mom or my dad eventually passed away. But as I stood there trying to choke back the tears. I realized that sometimes you can’t control the way grief hits you. 

It can be bananas. It can be selling your childhood home. It can be the smell of perfume. Anything can trigger a memory or thought, and it carries you back. Or bring you jarring forward and remind you that they aren’t here to experience things with you in the here and now, which can hurt in a completely different way. Knowing they’ll never meet a new grandchild, see a graduation, or share in one more shared pizza and a Saturday evening watching recorded Star Trek movies you can both repeat by heart… Pausing it at exactly 6:15pm because you know your younger sister is going to call – because she always calls Mom at 6:15pm, seven days a week.

When I got to my sister’s, I opened the car door, and my first words were “I had a moment at the banana counter.” Both my sister and my niece understood. The comfort in grief is having your people around who just know. There is no one else on the planet who would have understood that phrase, but my people know. I am forever grateful for them. Experiencing this with my family around me is what makes everyday possible.

I am learning, slowly, that being sad, even in Sobey’s is okay. Grieving is a process and it is going to wash over me when I least expect, for months, and even years to come. She was my Mom for 51 years and we were uniquely bonded (sorry Mom, I know how you felt about that word) because I was a part of her. One does not just ‘get over’ a loss of such immense significance. It will take time, there will be relapses, and even steps backwards. I can give myself grace and patience because she was someone dearly important to me. While I choked back the tears today, tomorrow, it will be okay to let them flow.