Saturday Morning...

Just lost it in the Safeway. This wasn't the first time I'd been to a grocery store without Lionel. But the first time I'd been to this one. "Our" Safeway...LOL. The one we went to all the time. It was part of our regular Saturday morning routine. Safeway is just in the next block from our building, but with my buddy, it was ordinarily a fairly time-consuming trip.

Lionel always professed to be an introvert, and maybe on some level he was. But he was also very outgoing and extremely friendly. We could never get out of our building without stopping to chat with whatever fellow tenants and neighbors we encountered. A simple stroll down the street engendered countless stops. Lionel talked to the metermaids, the UPS drivers, people parking their cars, tourists looking for directions, any little children or babies in strollers, cops on the beat, every shop owner we passed. And don't let us pass someone with a dog (a frequent occurrence in this neighborhood) LBJ had to talk to the dog, then talk to the owner(s) then talk to the dog some more, before I dragged him away.

I would usually stop in the bank to get quarters to wash clothes the next morning. Lionel would make a cup of coffee in the customer service area, talk to any children waiting there for their parents, any employees, and of course all security guards.

He knew all the street vendors along the way and felt compelled to discuss their business woes, the weather, recent or upcoming football games, local politics, etc. The 5-minute walk to the Safeway could easily take 20 minutes or more.

Lionel loved grocery stores. He would pick up the sale paper as we entered and peruse it carefully for any deals, sales, or coupons that he hadn't already given ME at home to carry. He liked to push the cart, partially that male thing, but also because he was weak and having trouble with his balance, but trying to hide it from me.

Of course, we had to go up and down every single aisle. When he had food stamps left, he would eagerly, proudly and carefully select his purchases. When they had run out at the end of the month, he would pick up things he wanted and look at me tentatively. I usually insisted he get them, whether we could afford it or not, because I knew how it hurt his pride to have to ask.

Today, I was doing well, looking at --but not getting -- all of the items that I knew he liked and that I customarily got for him on those rare occasions when I could sneak away to the grocery store without him. It made me sad to see all of his regular purchases, especially when I passed the seafood department -- his favorite in the store.

It felt strange to only buy a half-gallon of milk, just one loaf of bread and no eggs. Lionel could go through a gallon of milk in a day and a half, and consumed bread and eggs in the same enthusiastic fashion. But, all three have gone bad and had to be thrown out since he was no longer there using them. And I am gradually, painfully, learning to scale back my purchases to what just one person can carry.

But I was doing alright until I went down the aisle containing the greeting cards. It can only have been masochism that led me to browse through the Valentines. LBJ and I were not lovers or romantic partners in any sense, just close friends. But I am a holiday junkie and I always prided myself on being able to find the perfect Valentine for him. Something funny and not mushy, but sentimental enough to make him smile at more than just the humor. He enjoyed receiving these cards and would keep them on display by the television for weeks...or at least until the next holiday card from me. Sometimes, I would find them tucked away carefully somewhere, months after I thought he'd forgotten about or thrown them away.

Out of habit more than anything else, I looked carefully through all of the Valentines this morning and was pleased with myself when I finally found the perfect one for him. Then I remembered that Lionel wouldn't be getting any more cards from me, ever again.

That's when I lost it in the Safeway. I cried down the aisle, through the checkout line and out the door. Fortunately, nobody ever really pays any attention to broken-hearted old men crying in the grocery store -- or they assume you're crying because of the prices. On the way home, I could pretend it was just the icy wind, bringing tears to my eyes.