Bittersweet

Every year for the past several years, my family has made peanut brittle to give to friends and relatives for Christmas. Every year, my sister and I would look forward to spending the morning at our parent’s house, and we knew from year to year, some things never change.

For example, Kathy usually gets confused over whether or not we’ve already doubled the recipe. Dad would get aggravated over something one or both of us did, or didn’t do – correctly, at least in his eyes – like adding the baking soda too fast, or not spreading the brittle thin enough. Dad and Kathy would argue over whether the thermometer was at hard crack yet. Peanuts would fall on the floor, and we’d have to keep the dogs back from gobbling up the treats. Kathy and I would argue over why I need 12 bags to give away and she only needs 6 bags. And every year, my mom would sit in her chair at the table, watching, supervising, and occasionally rolling her eyes behind my dad’s back when he got on to us, in her mind, unfairly.

Not this year. We still made the peanut brittle like we always do, but one chair was conspicuously empty. We’ll make it again next year, and the years after that, but it will never be the same again.

What can I say? I miss my mom.