The Cadbury Creme Egg

Inspired by Kari’s blog of Lucas “fixing” himself breakfast on the counter top.

As posted in a comment on Kari’s page, I remember one Easter when my mother bought herself a Cadbury Crème Egg. It was sitting on the counter to the left of our harvest gold stove. I didn’t realize it at the time, but we didn’t have a lot of money and this was a real treat for her to have something of her own that she didn’t have to share with me and my brother. However, my brother, being the bad boy he was, climbed on the counter—he used to climb on everything—and ate her cherished egg, smearing chocolate and crème filling all over his stupid face. I remember when my mother caught him she was kind of sad that she didn’t’ get to eat her egg herself.

It makes me sad that my mother didn’t get to eat her coveted egg. It makes me sad that she sacrificed so much for her kids and had an awful marriage. She deserved better and I wish she had a better life than hers was before it ended.

Now, every Easter, I get really excited about Cadbury Crème Eggs. It’s not that I love the taste of them—they’re alright. It’s the memory of my mother that I get excited about. I always buy an egg and eat it for her.

I find myself doing other things in her memory. Things that I’ve heard from other people she liked. When I find out we liked the same things, especially our taste in music and movies, I feel like we still have a connection. It’s a nice feeling.