I'm cleaning my apartment, reorganizing for the new year and returning to the self I used to be. I'm only now putting away the groceries you bought me. Three large paper sacks full of non-perishables. My brother refers to it as Lindy's food pantry. My brother is also a lover of your unselfishness and gifts.
You somehow are able to get the loads of food to me, even though we live hundreds of miles apart. I love you for it. I love you for this simple tradition, most likely based upon your sexist ideals, but I still love you for it. It's a reminder, a subtle little reminder that the grocery buying will only stop when I'm married. It's a subtle reminder that I am in fact, not married. This tradition has taken a strong hold, even through a five year career, even through the purchase of my first home, even through a six year relationship, even through moments when you were struggling yourself, after Dad became sick and even though I am perfectly capable of buying my own food. I still love you for this. I love you for your empathetic heart. I love that you show me you love me, but never say it, and I understand how much it hurts. I know that the words drip from your actions, I know that they sink from your heart.
The last bag, I pull out a box of pancake mix, a surprise hidden at the bottom. You always know. I add it to the three other boxes that I have not used yet. I cannot tell you that I have become disinterested after an entire summer of filling up on hundreds of chocolate chip pancakes, knowing that it will hurt you. So, I smile to myself, knowing you remember, knowing you take the time to think of little details.
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