I hope there is coffee in heaven…let me tell you why.
Growing up, one of my very favorite places to be was at my Mamaw and Papaw’s house in Southwest Virginia. They lived in a little house tucked away in the woods right next door to my aunt and uncle and two cousins. When I was a kid we would go and stay for days at a time. For me, my siblings, and cousins there was adventure around every corner. We would roam the surrounding forest pretending we were explorers, play baseball and kick the can in the open field, have bonfires and water fights in the summer. We loved it there! It was always magical to me. We would stay the night in my Mamaw and Papaws house, usually on the couch in their living room. Bright and early every single morning, usually before anyone else was awake, I would hear footsteps and it would be my papaw. He’d quietly walk through the room we were sleeping in and head to the kitchen to start that morning’s first pot of coffee for the rest of the family. Once everyone else woke up, all the adults would make their way to the kitchen where there was already hot coffee waiting on them. Everyone would gather in the back sunroom with their pajamas on, hot cup of coffee in hand, and just talk and be together.
As we grew, all of us “kids” would pour us a cup as well. Those times talking together, sipping our hot drinks, just being together with nowhere to be were some of my favorite memories. You see, my papaw was a quiet man. Never one to be very affectionate. It wasn’t until after he had a heart attack that I remember him starting to open up a little more and start saying “I love you” to me. But as I got a little older, I started to see that he showed his love for us in the ways he knew how. That pot of coffee was one way. I think he knew how much we all enjoyed that time of being together, drinking our morning coffee. And every morning there was a hot pot waiting on all of us.
A few years ago, my papaw passed away. My family and I gathered at their house to stay the days following as we grieved together and made funeral arrangements. I remember waking up early that morning after. I rubbed my sleepy eyes awake and made my way to the kitchen. Through the dim light I saw someone standing there starting a pot of coffee. For a split second I saw my papaw, but then quickly realized it was my daddy. My eyes filled with tears. My daddy knew the significance in that pot of coffee too, and he knew there was now a hole to be filled. So you see, I really hope there is coffee in heaven. Because when I get there, I plan on sitting with my papaw to have a cup.