Skimmed

I grew up drinking skim milk.

My grandma moved in with us in the early 2000s. She had been living in an apartment about a mile away for a while then. Her mental health was deteriorating, slowly at first, and then faster, and it became clear that she needed full time eyes on her. We would go over to her apartment, and it was always kind of dark and cluttered... never dirty, but full of random things. She liked the idea of crafting but wasn't really adept at making things with her hands, so the crafting detritus would just end up in piles.

I remember she used to drink 2% milk in her tea. After she moved in, we would always have a small container of it next to the gallon jugs of skim milk that we needed to replace almost every single day. I remember thinking of 2% as the fat content that I would drink when I was older and had reached a point where I could do anything.

I also remember her afternoon Old Fashioneds. She would make them, strong, and park herself in front of Oprah, mere inches from the screen. I remember so distinctly the smell of her cheap Canadian whiskey.

I remember my mom drinking a Coke every single day when I was growing up. Most of the time I would miss it, she would drink it during lunch while I was at school. But on weekends, there it was. Every day.

Every morning, my dad always brought my mom her first cup of coffee in bed. I always just thought of it as the thing Mom needed to find the physical strength to get out of bed and chase her millions of kids around every morning. Now I also see it as a gesture from my dad. He was (is) so quietly supportive and consistent. I started drinking coffee early.

I remember packing a can of seltzer with my "lunches" in middle school. I always used to pack my own lunches. Looking back, I know my dad would have done it, but even then I resented needing any help, so I wearily did all of these small things myself.

I would sit at lunch with a granola bar and a seltzer, miserable, sure that the content of this lunch was going to be the key to being skinnier. But all it ever did was make me sad and hungry and feed into my rampant body issues. Years later (...YEARS) I would look back and realize how backward it all was. Food wasn't fuel to me then, food was a weapon and a dirty trick and I was riddled with guilt and shame over it. It honestly never occurred to me that I could find a way to coexist peacefully with food.

That seltzer in particular would sit there, mocking me. I HATED it. It was like soda, but not sweet; like water, but it burned my nose when I drank it. Now, I have a La Croix habit that may be the sole fiscal reason our company has yet to go public.

I think maybe I linger on these things in my memory because they're such tangible physical markers. If I can smell whiskey, I can remember my grandmother. If I see a can of Coke, I can hear my mom, typing furiously at her computer with two fingers while I was home sick. If I can hold a can of seltzer, I can reflect on how hard I fought to accept my body the way it is. If I have a cup of coffee, I think about my dad and his quiet contributions to our lives. And when I put 2% milk in it, I can actually feel that I'm older, and can do anything.