Guess Who’s Coming To Dinner

Though it’s been 10 long years, the night of my mothers accident still remains fresh on the plate of our minds. Like fresh shrimp.. or salmon portions; the one you get at 10am, right when the seafood mart opens because you only want the wild caught pieces.. you know, unprocessed. delicious. Like everything that went into her spaghetti.

I always found it interesting how after the accident, she remembered nothing of her previous life, except the minute details of preparing our favorite meal. Like what burner the pot went, or how long before the salmon melted in the coconut oil, and what kind of gizzard hearts made the taste dance. She remembered turmeric gave its distinct color, that cayenne pepper was the secret flavor, and in the breadth of 30 minutes, how to bring family together again.

If you knew my mother, you would know 8pm was dinnertime. If you really knew her, you would know that on particular tuesday nights, she came home early from work, and on those nights, we came together at 7pm. My father on the far end of the dinner table, my brother, Emeka, adjacent to him, and Ebuka, adjacent to my grandmother, who sat across from my father, as he served first to my mother, who then served to me.

The accident left my mother with severe memory loss, and my entire family suffers her absence everyday, but on particular tuesday nights, she remembered that she came home early from work, and on those nights, we came together at 7pm.

My father is on the far end of the dinner table. My brother, Emeka adjacent to him, and Ebuka, adjacent to my grandmother, who is sitting across from my father, who turns to his left, and serves first to my mother, who then serves to me.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.