memorial | Bertram's Blog

Favorite Drink

February 14, 2026 — Pat Bertram

Daily writing prompt

What is your favorite drink?

My favorite drink? As in favorite everyday beverage? Or as in adult beverage?

For an everyday drink, I generally stick with a cup of tea in the morning, or perhaps a weak milky coffee, and then drink water the rest of the day. Boooring!

So I won’t talk about that — I’ll talk about my favorite “drink” drink. As in alcohol. To be honest, I barely drink, even though my sister once gifted me with a lovely miniature liquor cabinet, something I always wanted. (Yeah, I know — weird for a self-proclaimed hardly-ever drinker to want something like that, right?)

A couple times a year, if I’m feeling under the weather, I’ll make myself a hot toddy with a fiery ginger tea, lemon, and spiced rum, but that’s for medicinal purposes. And every once in a great while, I’ll take a nip of something in my liquor cabinet just to experience my wild side.

Though I seldom drink even them, there are two drinks I do like, but mostly because they come with memories.

Exactly ten years ago today, I camped at Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument on my travels across the county. Stunning scenery, beautiful weather, congenial fellow campers. One evening, a camper (drawn by my car, more than me), who was exploring the south and west on his motorcycle, brought a bottle of Grand Marnier to my campsite. He and I sat under the bright stars with the glow of Mexico to the south, sipped our drinks, and chatted. It was such a magical experience that even today, a sip of Grand Marnier will take me back to that warm star-lit night.

I also occasionally have a sip of Bailey’s Irish Cream, but mostly, I save what I have so I can drink a toast to my mother on her birthday or deathday as a memorial, since it was her favorite drink. The glass I use is a regulation Bailey’s glass that once belonged to her. (She used to have a cupboard full of unmatched stemware. I kept those goblets when I cleaned out the house after my father died, and so now I, too, have a cupboard of unmatched glassware.)

Even considering those special two drinks, that little glass display case sits in my kitchen cabinet mostly unused but delighting me with the thought of finally having my very own miniature liquor cabinet.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One.

Posted in being me, culture, life. Tags: Bailey's Irish Cream, dailyprompt, dailyprompt-1855, Grand Marnier, memorial, Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument. 6 Comments »

Standing Tearfully on the Cusp of . . .

March 8, 2011 — Pat Bertram

My fourth book, Light Bringer, is going to be released later this month. I thought this would be an auspicious time, a time of endings and new beginnings. March is the two-year anniversary of my being published, it’s the anniversary of my birth, and it’s the first anniversary of my soul mate’s death. What I didn’t take into consideration is how emotional this month would be. I mean, I’ve had almost a year to get used to his death. I should be over it by now, right? Apparently not.

After his death, I told myself, “If you can just get through the first month, you’ll be fine.” I wasn’t. So then I told myself, “After the third month, you’ll be fine.” The months passed, and I still grieved, so I told myself, “After six months . . .” And, “after a year.” I’m nearing that first anniversary, but I don’t seem to be completely shedding my grief. Grief follows its own time. It will not, cannot be rushed. Even worse, I seem to be keyed into this same month last year — the final month of his life — and I feel as if I’m counting down to his death . . . again. The big difference is that last year I did not give in to emotion — at least not much and not until the end. His care was all that mattered. Well, I’m feeling now what I didn’t feel then. And just like last year, nothing I do can make him well.

This will be my first birthday without him, and oddly, it saddens me. We didn’t celebrate our birthdays. Sometimes we acknowledged them, sometimes we didn’t, but they were no big deal, just a change of numbers, so I’ve been wondering why this birthday troubles me, and tonight I figured it out. This is one of one of the big 0 birthdays, the one where you can no longer fool yourself into thinking you are still young (even the actuarial tables acknowledge this one as a major change). And here’s the kicker: my mate and I will not be growing old together. There will be no walking hand-in-hand in our twilight years, no reminiscing about our youth, no helping each other overcome the infirmities of age. “The end” has been written on our love story.

If that weren’t enough trauma for one month, Light Bringer is his memorial — his funeral service, obituary, epitaph — all rolled into one. Perhaps I shouldn’t imbue the book with such significance, but it is the culmination of two lifetimes of study — his and mine. It’s the last book he helped me edit, the last one I read to him from beginning to end. Once the book has been launched, it no longer belongs to us — to him and me. It belongs to anyone who reads it. And so one more piece of him will be gone from my life.

I’d hoped to be able to give the book a good send-off, but it’s hard to think of fun, innovative ways to promote when I’m constantly reminded that he won’t be here to help me celebrate. And it is something to celebrate. (Heck, I’m even going to celebrate my birthday!) So, here I am, at the beginning of this auspicious month, standing tearfully on the cusp of . . . what? I don’t know.