On Death and Cracked Wheat Cereal

With the death of a person comes the death of other things: endless TROVES of knowledge, secrets, understanding. For example: As a child, when my Grandmother wasn’t serving Eggo waffles with homemade, frozen raspberry jam, or sugary cereal with buttery toast, she would make cracked wheat cereal. Given the choice, I would always turn down Lucky Charms or tangy raspberry jam for my Grandma’s cracked wheat cereal, complete with sweet whole cream. Since her death, I have not had one dish of cracked wheat cereal that tasted as good, that tasted the same. For years my mother has scoured the shelf of every store looking for the right kind of cracked wheat to make the cereal. Today again we held our breath in hopes of tasting Grandma’s Cracked Wheat Cereal, only to find it was nothing more than Bob’s Bulger Cracked Wheat, just exactly as stated on the bag. My Mother sighed and said, “Oh well.” I stood and walked away from the table and the dish of Bob’s Bulger Cracked Wheat, stating, “That’s life.” Then, under my breath, I muttered, “And that’s death.” The loss of great and small things.