Lattes

I stopped by Starbucks the other day to pick up a latte for me and one for my parents. There were only two cup holders in the POS rent car so I got them a venti to share.

When I got there I began the walk up the drive. Memories came flooding back.

I remembered seeing my Dad crying under the awning where a hearse was parked.

I remembered them putting my mom’s coffin in the hearse and driving to the grave site.

I remembered flashes of people and how beautiful the weather was. 

I remembered Dad and I placed roses on Mom’s coffin before it was lowered into the ground.

I remembered Dad being devastated. I'd never seen my dad cry. I watched him cry enough that day to last for years. 

I remembered being there a year later watching as my brother roared up on my Dad's motorcycle with America's and Texas' flags flying.

I remember my father was taken out of the same hearse and carried to his resting place beside my mother.

I stood there looking at the headstone, tears streaming down my cheeks, while I drank my coffee and talked to them.

Then I poured their latte on the double grave site, cried some more, talked some more and left them once again, alone, together, forever.