I love purple. It’s a color I associate with the richness of wine, velvet nights, the coziest blanket tucked around a small child. But it’s also the color of old grief.
My great-grandmother Luella Mae, known to us as “Granny,” was a Junebug. She was born in June and died in early summer some 18 years ago. Memories of Granny are scattered like grapes through my childhood and teen years.
Granny had the best songs and quips. “My nose itches. I smell peaches. Yonder come a man with a hole in his breeches.” She loved red like the sun loves heat.
My novel Tea & Crumples wades right into the depths of grief and floats back out on hope. I thought about Granny when I was writing it, along with all the other loves I cannot touch. What makes grief tolerable are the daily rituals that let us stir faith into our homes. That’s why, when I think about the message of my book, these words come to mind. Tea helps us touch grief in the dark.
If you are going through a purple valley, I hope you know I’m here, thinking of you, too, when I stir my tea.
Faith, Tea, and Love,