My Aunt Joy passed away a few days ago. I’ve been trying to write this ever since. But am struggling with the words.
I come from a large extended family – lots of cousins, aunts, uncles. As I get older, more of those staples of my childhood are reaching their 80s and leaving us. This one hits harder. With people who’ve been in your life before you were even born, it’s hard to imagine it continuing without them. Or certain aspects anyway.
When I was a kid, my family would draw names of the 8 grandkids (me being one) and each of the 4 families would get 2 to buy for. My Aunt Joy always seemed to end up with me. Yup, the fix was in and I wasn’t complaining! She was a shopper and always went overboard. I lucked out.
Aunt Joy had been dealing with health challenges for years, and I knew this summer would likely be my last visits with her. So visit we did. And laugh we also did. And she got in some last gifts too. She bought me this hilarious mini tv that now sits on my desk and plays clips from Friends. Just because. Just because she saw it and knew I’d love it. She was a “just because” kind of gift giver.
We had our last meals too over the summer. Aunt Joy was Italian so food was love. Up until a couple months ago, she would be wheeling around on a desk chair in the kitchen, cooking away. As well as making fudge.
OH THE FUDGE! She made the best chocolate fudge like none I’ve tasted anywhere else. She would complain when she couldn’t get it quite right. No one else ever complained about a bad batch. And this summer her fudge was especially good. Extra love added I suppose.
Most of the time, fudge was for holidays and special occasions. But over the years, a box with fudge would appear on my doorstep to brighten my day. In college, it was a random care package. When my Dad died, it was about the only thing that would bring a smile. When I had Covid (the first time), the loss of taste was devastating – would I ever taste that melt in my mouth chocolate flavor again? It came back long before my sense of smell, just in time for a post-Covid care package from Aunt Joy.
Fudge was comfort.
Fudge was healing.
Fudge was love.
When I lost my Dad, it was sudden and unexpected. What I wouldn’t have given for moments at the end, to say all the things I didn’t get to say. The flip side is you have to watch as your loved one suffers. My cousin and I had discussed this a couple times recently and it’s hard to know which is worse. As awful as it is to know what’s coming, it’s hard to explain the gut punch that comes from a sudden loss.
But now Aunt Joy is hanging with Dad. And I guarantee one thing – his first words were, “where’s the fudge?”
