Folgers coffee scented sundays

I remember you, as a kid, and how you and I would belt out Rod Stewart songs; but what I remember the most of you,
Is the smell. The smell of Folgers coffee in the mornings, and how it always put a smile on your face.
 
I remember that you would call me sue, and how warm your hugs were, and how rare they were to come by.
I remember peaceful weeks with you, and how you taught me how to make an entire thanksgiving dinner, even if it was only for the three people eating it.
 
I remember you called me an old soul the night I made that dinner, after the sun himself had gone to bed and I hummed Johnny cash as I washed the remnants of thanksgiving down the kitchen sink drain.  
I remember so much about you; and yet it is never enough,
Until I smell the Folgers coffee, and it pulls me right back to you.  
 
You died before your birthday, and before I could tell you I’m changing my major, before I could tell you that I liked women even more than I like men.
Before I could sit across the living room on the couch with you, and watch another episode of jeopardy.
 
My birthday is on Thursday, and you will not be here with me to celebrate it.  
But I have already bought the coffee, and when I am drinking margaritas like we planned, I will be thinking of you.
And I hope that it is warm, wherever you are;
And that is always smells of Folgers coffee and fried eggs and bacon on sundays.
 
All my love,  
A. Sue