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If Only I’d Known     

The list of things I wish I’d known to cherish a few moments longer keeps growing

IFonly I’d known.

The list of things I wish I’d known to cherish a few moments longer keeps growing.

Last summer, when we visited you in Sydney, we had a blast. After seven years, I finally came back home, the whole crew in tow, descending on your home for six amazing weeks.

The beds were neat and freshly made, the fridge and pantry stocked. As was your way, every need was met. We were so comfortable.

On one of those first mornings, after the children tried and rejected all the Australian cereals, you offered to make them the oatmeal you ate every morning. They crowded around you by the stove, watching as you stirred oats into milk and squirted in just the right amount of honey. They lined up to receive a prized bowl and gobbled every drop.

When Gav’s birthday came along, you deliberated whether to buy a cake or make one. My daughter suggested an orange cake we often bake, not knowing it’s one you often had on the table when I was young. You suggested we use freshly squeezed orange juice and took out the small, manual juicer for the task.

The cake was delicious and gone in moments, as everyone took seconds and thirds.

If only we’d known that orange cake would be the last we’d bake with you.

Excerpted from Mishpacha Magazine. To view full version, SUBSCRIBE FOR FREE or LOG IN.

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