family – Tori Dreamer

February 13, 2024February 13, 2024

Coffee Thoughts

This morning, on my birthday, I drank the exact same coffee I drank on my birthday in 1995. How on earth do I remember? Because it’s Blueberry Cobbler flavored, and my house smells like blueberry cobbler, just like my grandparents’ house did on the morning of February 13, 1995.

I had just given birth to my oldest daughter (my second child) two weeks before, and my 3-year-old son and I were living with my grandparents in North Carolina while my husband toured the country with Les Miserables. Said husband was home for the birth of our newest bundle, and while shopping for groceries, he purchased this amazing coffee. Now I’ve always loved flavored coffee, but something about this smell was heavenly. And it permeated every inch of my grandparents’ house… much to my grandfather’s dismay.

Every morning, until it was gone, I enjoyed a brimming cup while I played with my 3-year-old or nursed my newborn. Until he went back on the road a few weeks after our daughter’s birth, my husband would brew the coffee and make my breakfast, and I would relax and revel in the sounds of our little family, and my grandparents in the background… both nearing 80 years. The coffee and the people and the warmth of that home felt safe. And though my family was about to embark on a new journey in a strange land called “New Jersey”, my heart and my head were at peace… at least for a while. It was 1995 after all… and there was still a bit of young and stupid in me.

Flash forward to this morning, February 13, 2024. My husband recently found that Blueberry Cobbler coffee again. And as I brewed my first cup, the smell wafting through my house… the one we bought 29 years ago in the state I now call home, New Jersey… I smiled and remembered 1995. This morning, my home smells like my grandparents’ home. This morning, my grandparents have been gone from this world for far too long and I miss them. This morning, it’s quiet; no toddler at my feet or newborn at my chest. This morning, it’s snowing like crazy outside and everyone else is asleep. This morning, I’m a mother of three adults, Mimsy of two grandchildren, and wife of almost 36 years. This morning, after my rollercoaster life that only a few truly know, my heart and my head are at peace… at least for a while. It is 2024 after all… and there is now a bit of old and wise in me.

I do love Blueberry Cobbler coffee.

Tori Burris Inkley
2/13/24

May 14, 2020June 4, 2020

My Dad

So I’m not terribly close to my dad. I suppose. At present. I used to be… when I was a little girl. A little less as a teen. A little less still in college. And then after I married and moved to California, we basically maintained a telephone relationship, seeing each other once every year or so. But for over a decade now, we haven’t seen each other at all. Even the phone calls ended somewhere along the way. And then the coup de grace came around the end of November 2016 when I found I just didn’t have the energy anymore.

Let me make it clear that my dad is not a bad man. In fact, I truly believe at his core, in his heart, he is a good man. It’s just that he and I are polar opposites when it comes to many of our beliefs, and we hit a wall we couldn’t get around/over/through. The distance had been growing for years, but on this last issue, my own anger became so fierce that in order to save myself, I had to cut ties. So I did.

I guess it doesn’t really matter what the last straw was. It’s enough to say it was huge. And we were both headstrong enough to not back down. Social media was not my friend, as I took quite the virtual beating from some of his pals. So I made the decision and I broke free from the situation. I’ve honestly never regretted that. My heart and soul and peace of mind required me to do so. I’m grateful I had the strength to follow through because the anger and negativity was eating me up.

So after almost four years, we haven’t really found our way back to each other, although I finally began answering his texts a few years ago. The messages between us are short and factual and almost formal in nature. Oddly though, they always end in “I love you”. You see, I never stopped loving my dad. Even though we grew WAY apart… he’s my dad. Two years ago, when my oldest daughter was planning her wedding, I decided to extend the olive branch and invite him and my stepmother to the wedding. I’m not really sure what response I was expecting, but they RSVP’d with a “No”. Part of me was relieved I suppose, but part of me was incredibly sad. I guess in the excitement of the upcoming wedding, I had envisioned a happy reunion and some sort of rekindling of a father-daughter relationship.

In the two years since, we have continued to text. The subject matter seems to always revolve around someone’s health and doctor’s appointments. Boring and predictable, but at least it’s some sort of contact. My love for my dad continues, and I have no grandiose ideas that things are going to change much. This morning I found out that he’s been admitted to a rehabilitation center due to some health issues. I’m worried. I’m sad. I’m wondering how it will all turn out and if he knows when I text “I love you” that I truly do mean it… even though we haven’t really spoken in years.

I’m not terribly close to my dad. But he’s still my dad.

Note: My dad passed away around 2AM this morning (6/4/20). And I’m so incredibly sad. I truly did love him. He was, after all, my dad.