Grocery shopping has never been my favorite chore. I’m not into crowds, aisles, a million choices and brands, or buying 15 items when my intention was to purchase two. However, nowadays, going shopping is more of an emotional challenge than just another thing I’d rather avoid. Nowadays, the triggers abound.

I shopped for or with my mother for years (until she could no longer walk the aisles or understand what she was looking at). She died one month short of her 96th birthday, and her food choices largely remained the same until the end. While she still cooked: enchilada sauce and long tubes of high-fat hamburger for when she made several dozen enchiladas (and then gave them away to anyone who would take them); chicken thighs and hot dogs for both herself and her extremely overweight dog; 10-pound bags of potatoes and two-quart jars of mayonaise for when she made potato salad (see enchilada comment above); Lay’s Potato Chips, fillet mignon steak, thick lamb chops, and the makings of her famous rum cakes (she would make nine at a time to take to her quarterly visits with her doctor). During the last few years of her life, she developed a sweet tooth:. Add to the list cookies of all kinds involving chocolate, chocolate candy bars, ice cream drumsticks, and her passion–Entenmann’s Donuts. Her favorite store was the Grocery Outlet or the Dollar Store–her idea of Heaven, no doubt–where she could buy innumerable items at a cheap price.

While I haven’t food-shopped too often for my girls since they left home, I still know their tastes and preferences. Memories are constant as I push the cart up aisles where arguments over sweet vs. healthy cereals held court. I was always strict with what my girls were allowed–fresh fruit and veg, meats, dairy, healthy carbs, all homemade foods–though certainly they were never deprived. As long as they consumed a suitable amount of their dinner, they were allowed dessert (“Mom, I’m full,” one girl would say. I would reply, “How old are you?” “Six (or 14!).” Eat six (or 14) more bites then.”) My system worked. When they were at their dad’s house, they were allowed much more lattitude, but I was the one saying “no.”
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A couple months after Jess passed, I was nearing the check-out and saw a stand of individual-sized bottles of Sunny Delight, something I have never purchased, though I’m sure my girls have drunk. I stood staring at the sugary sweet offending items with one thought stuck in my mind: “All the things I denied my girls to keep them healthy, intelligent (only one hour of TV a night), strong, and Jessie is still dead. All the heartaches and arguments didn’t keep my girl alive.” Enter another wave of despair.

I still have those moments of overwhelming regret, but nowadays, when I shop, I’m simply struck by the bittersweet memories of my mother and daughter (I do shop with Sarah sometimes, always watching closely what she picks and still encouraging healthy choices…I simply can’t help myself). Last week, I was doing a quick search for Perrier and saw the cans of coconut milk Jess so loved yet would never again drink, just as my mother will never again have her donuts or cookies. I believe they know no lack where they now reside–hunger and taste are for the living–and as for shopping for my mother, I can’t forget the many times I complained about the chore (she’d send me out every other day to pick up something she “needed”). Who knew I’d end up standing in the aisle holding sweet cereal, pop tarts, or coconut water, tears running down my face, wishing that I could make a simple purchase, see my mother’s smile, or be blessed to hear “Thanks, Mom!”