I Ruined the Gravy

It was always my mother's job to make the gravy. Her gravy was wonderful - turkey gravy, leg of lamb gravy, or pork gravy - it was always delicious. She never used Wondra, always flour. She would stand at the stove, adding the potato water to the pan drippings, adding flour little-by-little so as not to get lumps. Her utensil was a metal spatula which she used both to scrape drippings from the pan and to flatten any lumps that managed to form.

This Easter, as a tribute, I decided to make leg of lamb. I felt that it would comfort my father and be pleasing to my children. I made sure to keep to the spirit of how my mother would prepare the meal, so in addition to green beans and mashed potatoes and gravy, I added different side dishes to make everyone happy: homemade ratatouille for my son's girlfriend who is dieting, and cucumber salad for my sons.

My sister called as I was getting the lamb out of the oven. Rather than let the call go to voicemail, I answered. I wanted to speak to her if only to bridge the miles between us and share a bit of the holiday together. As I talked, phone wedged between my chin and my shoulder, I started the gravy. I reached for the glass pickle jar in my cabinet which I thought contained flour. I failed to check and so I added an ungodly amount of confectioner's sugar to the highly anticipated gravy. I ruined it. I tried all sorts of remedies as my sister shouted them into the phone: I added bouillon, salt, more potato water, and even some flour. To no avail. I ended the phone call to break the news to my family.

At any other holiday, I might have laughed myself silly. But not this holiday, my first without my mother. My ruining the gravy began to take on much bigger significance. It was self-sabotage, it was my mother trying to tell me that I should never have even tried to make her gravy, or it was her message from beyond the grave that she was still a part of the family, and we shouldn't try to replace her.

My son, during our gravy-less dinner, opined that it was wonderful that we were all together, eating Easter dinner. He was glad we hadn't decided that it was too sad to make the effort. He said, "Life goes on, but not in a way that leaves Chon-Chon behind, but in a way that brings her with us, just differently." That helped me put it all into perspective. It was really good that we made the effort. My mother would expect us to, want us to. She didn't resent my making the gravy and I hadn't sabotaged myself. I just ruined the gravy. That's all. And to our credit, we didn't let it spoil the rest of the very delicious meal I had prepared. Despite our grief, despite everything, life went on. We ate Easter dinner as a family. And my mother was with us, just differently.