by Marie Anne

Created on: August 21, 2009

My mother made the best fudge. No, really, I'm not kidding. I've had fudge from all over the United States and several countries of the world, so I know my fudge. I don't know where she got the recipe, but I do know that she'd been making it for at least as long as I've been on this earth. My sisters and I have tried to duplicate it and while we've had decent results, it never did quite measure up to Ma's. For that matter, there are probably a number of things I didn't measure up to in her eyes, and understandably so.

Ma would make 'her' fudge for every holiday and family gathering and no matter how many batches she'd make, it would disappear from 'the fudge dish' in short order. Yep, Ma had a special serving dish for her fudge and it was known as just that the fudge dish.

What made Ma's chocolate fudge so special? The list of ingredients doesn't look much different from the many other recipes I've tried over the years. Even when others followed her recipe, it just wasn't the same. So what was it she did that made it 'hers'?

Heavy saucepan check.
Wooden spoon check.
Real Marshmallow Fluff check.
Quality vanilla extract check.

I've got it all, so what's missing?

Ma made her share of mistakes - as a daughter, wife, mother - as have we all. She rarely showed her love in a demonstrative way, but we never doubted that love. She displayed it in the things that she did for us, in the best way that she knew how. Working long hours in the mill for barely minimum wage to try to keep food in our bellies. Coming home after that hard day to tend to five children and a thankless husband, if he was even there.

And yes, simple things like making 'her' fudge.

I left home to join the Marine Corps within days of my 18th birthday and have seldom been home for more than a few days at a time since then, which was 34 years ago tomorrow. Ma's fudge often traveled the globe as a special gift from home, no matter where Uncle Sam sent me. My two sons have had the joy of knowing 'Gram's fudge', and for that I am thankful. She would even make a special batch for my son that doesn't like nut; we all knew not to mess with the foil-wrapped package with the label that said 'Paul's Fudge'. That is love. That is Ma.

Ma left us in June. She would have been 83 in July. Is this the end of that legacy? What will we do without Ma? Will the holidays be the same without Ma's fudge? How could such a simple thing as fudge cause me to relive such wonderful memories, and at the same time fill me with a deep sadness?

I tried to make Ma's fudge again the other day. I was determined to make that fudge until I could get it right.

I did it.

It seemed just a little off when I first poured it into the pan, but after it cooled completely and I ate that first piece, I closed my eyes and I was back in Ma's kitchen on Dudley Street, her telling me to leave some fudge for the others.

Why was I able to get it right this time? Will I be able to do it again? Has she passed that wooden spoon on to me? Am I up to the task, the responsibility of making 'Ma's fudge' for family gatherings? Will my sons come to appreciate it as much as Gram's fudge when I send some their way?

Happy Birthday, Ma. I hope I've finally measured up.

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