Bischoff's

It was like learning of the imminent demise of a member of the family. The memories flooding in.

While the world changed around us, this spot was like the picture of Dorian Gray. The counter where we sat to order ice cream sodas or take home pints of our favorite flavor of home made ice cream. The candy counter where it seemed those half moon slices of pure sugar, made in all different colors yet each tasting exactly the same, knew they had me at hello.

But the heart of this place was in the booths in the back. The ones my mom slid into countless times, each and every week, over decades. With her sisters. Or her children. Or, best of all, her grandkids.

In my mom's later years, when the dementia was beginning to overtake her, this was a safe haven. No sooner had she walked in then the coffee appeared before her. When she lost the capacity to order, the waiter or waitress (yes, I still remember Jeri) would inform her "I know what you want today." 

To my two kids, and my nephew and niece, this was where they got to spend so many hours as the special grandchild. Where each believed, correctly, that here the world revolved around them. Where "no" was never part of the vocabulary. Where they were exactly where they wanted to be, with exactly whom they wanted.

Before Bischoff's closes each of us will make our way there to say goodbye. Goodbye to our own version of pizzaburger, with a side order of cole slaw or potato salad. And a black and white ice cream soda. To the Teaneck we recall. To the sisters who swapped tales here. But most of all to a woman who we still cling to for dear life. 

When the doors finally close there will be many tears shed. For the echoes of my mom permeate here. Within these walls forever remains an endless supply of love.