Going Bananas

 

When I remember Rob, I remember bananas. 

I wouldn’t have to "remember" them if I liked them because they’d still be right here in front of me. But I can't stand bananas, not unless they’re all mashed up and formed into a loaf of bread. They were Rob’s favorite food. He loved bananas, and I made sure he didn’t run out of the curvy, yellow fruit. He ate them first thing in the morning, grabbed them for snacks, and loved them on peanut butter sandwiches. His potassium level must have been sky high. He was so healthy in so many ways. If only bananas had superpowers. He'd still be here.

After I lost him, the first hurdle I had to face in finding my life again was waiting for me inside the grocery store. I didn’t know what I was in for. I was sick for so long, too, with the virus and its aftermath, that when I finally had the strength to get in my truck and go for a drive, I went to the store. To find independence. To reclaim some small part of my old life. To pick up some food.

But the produce aisle was right inside those heavy, automatic doors. I walked right up to the display where spotless, yellow bananas were piled as high as I’d ever seen them, and suddenly I was in tears, standing in the middle of Basha’s, fully realizing the way my life had disappeared. There they perched, acting innocent, like it wasn’t their fault I’d nearly grabbed a bunch of them to take home to Rob.

I’ll never buy bananas again because Rob will never be here again to eat them.

It was a replay by the coffee aisle. Passing the cereal aisle. In the cold beer section and the wine displays. Suddenly, I was trapped inside a mine field of sorrow as everything I ever bought for Rob to enjoy blocked my way of escape. Everywhere, on every aisle, were all the things I’ll never buy again because he’s not here to look pleased and hug me for bringing home those little things that told him he was always on my mind. All the painful reminders that those days are over—they're on sale everywhere at Basha's. Especially bright yellow bananas.

Why are those things even allowed out in public?

I didn’t know a trip to the grocery store could be so traumatic, but when half your heart goes suddenly missing, the most unexpected things catch you off-guard. Still, I couldn't avoid this forever. After all, a girl has to eat. I had two choices: spend every penny of our retirement money on takeout and Door Dash, or conquer the bananas.

I haven't given up eating. Or shopping. I forced myself to keep going back until it got easier. Until I made it through without blowing my nose on aisle two and three and five and seven and eight and fourteen and nineteen and twenty-three. I’m pretty good at it now. Shopping for one. Averting my eyes when I pass yellow fruit. Giving a cold shoulder to the coffee displays. Staying away from the wine bottles he so loved to browse. I’m boycotting all of them. I wouldn't give them the time of day even if they bribed me with chocolate. I have one test now before something lands in my shopping cart—if it makes me cry, I walk on by. Onions aren't the only thing at Basha's with a bad reputation.

There is one exception to the ‘cry test.’ The Kleenex aisle. I never skip that one when I go shopping. Actually, I’m thinking of taking out stock in the company. I deserve some kind of reimbursement for the way I’ve kept them in business lately. And because bananas are everywhere, just waiting to trip me up, I’m counting on Kleenex to have my back.

Bananas. Those slippery little devils with their evil, upturned grins. I've never liked bananas, but I'm wise to them now.

I can run, but they won't hide.

With thanks to Peter Tully for his imaginative photo seen above. The original can be viewed by following this link: Bananas | Bananas and a water splash, so starts my journey o… | Flickr