The Photo

When I decided to cut meat from my diet 15 years ago, the hardest to let go of was bacon. Specifically, Trader Joe’s uncured turkey bacon, but really, any kind of bacon. I also turned into a vegetarian snob, shunning any food product that tried to be meat. But a year ago I loosened the sphincter and bought a box of soy sausage links.

And I liked them.

In March, a local farm market started selling their hothouse tomatoes, and I had an overwhelming craving for a BLT. I caved and bought a box of fake bacon.

And I liked it.

Yesterday, my daughter Carlene found my favorite picture, which I thought was lost forever. It had been hanging out for years in an envelope in a box in her closet. It’s the only photo of Carlene, Bruce and me. The only proof that once upon a time, we were a family of three.  

To say I cried would be an understatement.

Carlene was born at Sioux Valley Hospital, which is now called something else, and after 13 hours of labor and a spectacular delivery, they brought us to a recovery room, where I was tasked with nursing Carlene for the first time. A nurse insisted on taking a picture, and I remember saying something like, “I look awful” (I mean, do you see all those IVs? My hands were like balloons, and my hair and face…), but she said I would be glad to have our first family photo.

I’m more than glad. I’m eternally grateful.

Now, back to bacon. Bread (not toasted), a little butter, and not-too-crisp (and not microwaved) bacon was one of Bruce’s favorite breakfasts. So this morning—the day after the prodigal picture’s return—I ate a slice of “bacon” on a slice of homemade bread, and it tasted like 1983—before the accident, when we really were as happy as we looked.