Mom made bread. Mom made bread often. Not as often as Grandma used to, but she made a lot of bread.
I...made a mistake. The Tuesday after Mom passed, I was going through the motions and I threw ingredients into the bread machine Odysseus got me for my birthday, last year. No, not gluten free bread. Regular bread.
As soon as the house started smelling like bread baking, I started leaking tears and could not stop.
I didn't make bread last week. We took that last half loaf from the previous week and turned it into garlic toast to go with the pasta bake I'd made. And, since that was the day after Mom's service? If I hadn't had bread on hand, I'd have asked Odysseus to just pick up a loaf.
Today was pasta day again. The "start bread" alarm on my laptop went off...
...and this week, I didn't leak tears.
Not while I was smelling the bread baking, at least. I still randomly leak tears (I'm sure y'all understand), but that smell of fresh bread didn't trigger it for me, today.
Life does go on. It took my mom a little while after Grandma passed before she could make bread without bawling. Guess it was my turn.
