Dear coffee

I miss saying, “Let’s go out for coffee?”

I miss cappucinos.

I miss coffee in the afternoon. It would fire me up and keep me functioning until it was time to make the dinner. Now, unless I’m out, I have a nanna nap instead.

Our love affair began when I was about 11 or 12 years old. In those early years there was more milk and sugar than there was coffee. But as I matured, gradually over time the milk and sugar was reduced and the coffee increased.

There were a couple of short separations, each time I was pregnant. But as soon as the child was birthed, while I was still in the delivery room, I’d ask the attending nurse for a cup of coffee. After nine months of separation, the reunion was always sweet.

In my senior years the milk was no longer added. I’d finally graduated to the height of sophistication: I was a black coffee drinker. It took years of dedication and loving commitment but, finally, I was there.

And then that hussy – Tamoxifen – came between us!

In the beginning there was no indication that there would be any trouble. I’d happily pop Tamoxifen in my mouth, every morning, and then wash it down with the first cup of coffee. No problem.

I know I need her. She’s keeping the cancer under control. She’s doing a darned good job, corralling it in a corner of my ribs, and I know if I gave her the boot things could go badly for me.

But, she’s messed with my taste buds and dear coffee was the first to go. There’ve been other defections since but coffee was the first and the most painful. It’s been nearly five years now and I still miss it. When I’m out – a cafe, a restaurant, a pub,  a friend’s place – I watch the Old Boy and the others drink their coffee, while I sip my tea and the green-eyed monster (jealousy) waves at me from across the table and laughs at my sorrow.

Oh coffee. I remember the good times. I know our relationship is over and I’m trying to move on with my life but … There’ll always be a place in my heart (and stomach) that is forever yours.