Cursive Writing

And One Pound of Provolone Sliced

My mom had beautiful cursive handwriting; dare I say, it was near perfection. She loved sending cards, writing letters to friends and family, and even wrote out checks instead of making online payments. Some might call that old school, but I would never have looked at her as being old.

One day, like so many times before, she asked me to run to the grocery store for her. She wrote the list out on a piece of scrap paper, just like my grandma had done. Written in cursive were the items: one pound of provolone sliced, a stick of pepperoni, a loaf of Italian bread from the bakery (just to name a few). She always made me read the list back to her in case I had any questions. As quickly as I started to rattle off the memorized items, my eyes shot back up and met with hers. And without a word, her soft smile told me - she knew.

The items were the same, but it was clear that the pen dragged a little slower across the paper and the faintness of the ink whispered the things she couldn’t bear to say out loud. They were the same things I didn’t want to hear, but there they were written in cursive.

It told me that even the simplest of tasks were getting harder for her and that the sarcoidosis would be taking over from here. I refused to acknowledge her frailty expressed through the quivering pen. Instead, I grabbed my keys, made a joke about having to call her once I got to the store, and headed to Giant Eagle. One pound of provolone sliced, a stick of pepperoni, a loaf of Italian bread from the bakery, and a few more items. Lost in thought, I pushed my buggy through each isle trying to pretend like this was just another one of the two-hundred-plus trips I had made for her in the past. As I rounded the corner, I ran into an old high school friend I hadn’t seen in thirty years. I asked them how their parents were doing, only to find out they were having health issues as well. We shared our stories through tears while holding tight to our lists. Two lists comprised of totally different items, but there we stood sharing in the same heartbreak.

My mom passed away in 2022, just twenty-two days after that trip to Giant Eagle.

Cursive Handwriting Practice

Last month, I decided to hand write my next short story in cursive instead of using the computer. As my pen hit the paper I could see a familiar silhouette cross over the page, our writing styles being very similar. I stopped and took notice of the bold blue ink and the imprints on the pages below from the intensity of my writing. I stopped and thought about all the cards and letters my mom wrote to me over the years. They contain the stories from home, holiday greetings, and words of encouragement. I have a box where I keep the writings, along with the envelopes, that she sent me over the years. At the top of that pile sits the last thing she wrote to me – the grocery list: one pound of provolone sliced, a stick of pepperoni, and a loaf of Italian bread from the bakery.

And without a single word spoken, I smile.

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