Front Porch: The space between

Bags of Horehound candy and golden butterscotch discs.

Pond’s cold cream and Centrum Silver vitamins.

A pair of soft, brightly colored socks.

In the month since my mom’s passing, I’ve absentmindedly placed these items in my cart.

Turns out shopping for Mom is a hard habit to break.

Grief is a fascinatingly fluid thing. The day I put the cold cream and butterscotch candy in my cart, I realized my mistake, put the items back and left the store without purchasing a thing.

Small things can remind us of big losses, and sadness is sneaky. Meeting with a funeral home director brought nary a tear, but baking Mom’s brown sugar cookies the next day opened the floodgates.

Then I remembered who those cookies were for. Our youngest son was bringing his fiancée home to meet the family. The trip had been planned for months. While Sam was sad that Susan wouldn’t meet his Grandma Shirley, he was excited for her to meet us and to show off his hometown.

Baking is my version of killing the fatted calf. After the brown sugar cookies, I baked chewy chocolate cookies and chocolate chip cake bars. When I discovered Susan would be celebrating her birthday with us and that she loved chocolate, I made sure I had the ingredients for a Texas sheet cake on hand.

With a full freezer and a fuller heart, I welcomed our son and his wife-to-be.

I’ve spent the majority of my adult life in Hval’s House of Boys, so I admit I was a bit nervous and a bit giddy at the thought of having a girl in the house for an eight-day visit. I needn’t have worried because Susan fit effortlessly into our family.

Guess what? You can be sad and miss your mom and still joyfully fall in love with your future daughter-in-law.

It was fun to see Sam in full tour guide mode. In short order, Susan experienced Zip’s fries and tartar sauce, Yoke’s jojos (my kid likes his spuds), followed by a visit to Riverfront Park, including a ride over the falls.

They stopped by Derek’s shop, got a peek at The Spokesman-Review newsroom, and met the gargoyles atop the Chronicle building.

Sam took her to his favorite indie bookstores and showed her the Eastern Washington University campus, where he earned the degrees that brought them together. (They both teach in the English department at Odessa College in Texas.)

His brother, Zach, and his wife, Naselle, took them to Sandpoint on Memorial Day, and Susan survived meeting all of the extended family who live in the area in one epic backyard picnic.

There were board games, s’mores in the Great Gazebo and movie nights, but all too soon, it was time for them to fly home and finalize their wedding plans.

Meanwhile, we had other preparations to make.

On June 19, we placed Mom’s urn next to my dad’s at Fairmount Memorial Park and celebrated her long, well-loved life. Our family shared memories and “Mom stories,” and while there may have been a smattering of tears, we mostly laughed. Laughter is our family legacy.

As you read this, we are celebrating the wedding of Sam and Susan. I’m confident there will be lots of laughter and perhaps a smattering of happy tears.

The space between grief and joy is whisker-thin.

For me, that space has been filled with peace and a profound thankfulness for the blessings I’ve enjoyed and the delightful anticipation of the love that lies ahead.