Grama’s Tea

PHOTO PROMPT © Jen Pendergast

Grama’s custom tea blends and that little pot had been with me as long as I could remember, first on weekends and holidays at her house, then college, my first foray into adulthood. Every Friday, like clockwork, a small package arrived in the mailroom. I’d head to my room, start the water, and open it. She always knew what I needed: a pick-me-up after a bad date, comfort after a tough exam. No package was ever the same, but each one healed something invisible. Her teas weren’t just blends. They were love, wisdom, and care, steeped into every soothing sip.