Hot Pasta

I was thinking this morning about what I’d like to eat. I am craving this dish. I’m not sure if it’s just a thrown-together dish or something from a cookbook that I’ve always called Hot Pasta. It’s simple to make. It’s just spaghetti tossed with a concoction of onion, garlic, and red pepper flakes sauteed in olive oil. Sprinkle on some parmesan cheese, or dump it on like I do, and enjoy. We serve it with sweet Italian sausages and cottage cheese.

I know, we’re weird.

I realized I didn’t have the exact recipe. I wasn’t sure if there were any other ingredients. So I picked up my phone to call the person who introduced the dish to the family.

My Grandma.

My Grandma died six months ago today.

I miss her terribly.

The sad part is that she would know how to deal with the funk I'm in.

She was the best. She practically raised me until I was 14 and moved in with my Dad in Michigan. When I was little, and my parents were going through their "troubles," I spent every night with her. She fed me. Sometimes, she dressed me. And often, she helped me with schoolwork. She always had my favorite foods, and I had my own room at her house.

She doled out Grandmother love and Mother discipline.

She was more a Mom than a Grandma.

When she died, It felt like I lost my Mom (for the record, none of this negates my feelings for my real Mom) and that I, unless I wanted to draw unnecessary attention to myself, and if you’ve been following me for any amount of time you know I’d rather die first, I couldn’t grieve properly.

Other than my partner, no one was aware of the depth and breadth of my pain. Now, if you’re one of the family members who stalk my Blog, and I know who some of you are, and you’re reading this, you know too.

I think I’ve rambled on about my grief enough today. Maybe I’ll have more to say tomorrow, next week, next month, or next year. Until then, I’ll keep my mask on, and when I leave the house, I’ll pretend everything is ok.

On March 27, 2023, my Mom died.

- Josh (09/26/2023)