“I want you to have this,” my brother said, and he handed me a coffee cup. White glazed, adorned with flowers and butterflies and inscribed with a saying: “Mothers are forever and I’m so glad you’re mine.” I clutched it tightly.
“This was Mama’s,” I said. Her favorite coffee cup.
Mama had just recently passed away, after a long battle with complications from diabetes. She was no longer in pain, no longer suffering but that thought didn’t comfort me. I missed her so much. Was she really in heaven? Could she hear me?
Mama was my best friend, my confidant, my everything. We talked on the phone twice a day—the first call always during her morning cup of coffee. So when I spotted that cup in a local store, I plucked it from the shelf to get a closer look. To my surprise, it played a little melody! I just knew Mama would enjoy it.
“Oh, how lovely!” she said, pulling it out of the box, its sweet song playing. “I’ll use it every day.”
And she did. Even though, after a few years, the music suddenly stopped. We tried and tried to fix it, but it was useless.
“Don’t worry,” I told her. “I’ll get you a new one.”
“No, that’s okay,” she said. “It means too much to me to ever get rid of.”
Now, holding it in my hand, the grief overwhelmed me. She’d kept this broken cup for years for no other reason than it was a gift from me. Now there would be no more visits, no more phone calls over her morning coffee.
A few nights later I was watching TV in bed, my thoughts still on Mama. God, I prayed, I know that Mama is with you, but I just wish I knew that she was happy. Suddenly, I was startled by a noise. Was somebody in the house? It sounded like someone was playing the piano. Except we didn’t have a piano… I got up and followed the sound around the house to the kitchen.
And there, on the table, was Mama’s coffee cup playing a happy melody once again.
