I stepped inside the red shingled building and heard the jingle of the door as it closed behind me. I was met with the familiar rush of warm air, the smell of chocolate and age. A little old the way my grandmother’s house does. Like the rugs haven’t been changed in 60 years. Clean well kept, and old.

I moved further inside, took my plastic number from a hook, and started to wander around the room, happy to have some time before my number was called to enjoy looking at all the different chocolates. There were chocolate gold coins that I couldn’t resist getting for my children’s stockings. And chocolate bark with sea salt for my husband, even though that wasn’t part of the original plan it made me smile, and I felt happy to surprise him. I listened as customers talked to each other, old friends asking about each other’s families and holiday plans.

My turn came up and the woman who has served me since the first time I came in 30 years ago, smiled and asked me what I would like. I replied with my usual Christmas order; “half pound of dark chocolate, orange creams and a half pound box of chocolate, chocolate, walnut, and Panucci fudge.” She nodded her head, reached for the boxes, wove through customers, and carried out her job with a calm deamonor despite the busyness of the day. I took pleasure getting to stand next to her and be in her presence while she put the pieces of fudge neatly in a box. I asked her to add one piece of Panucci for me and she looked up with a small smile and crinkled eyes and asked, “just one?” I laughed, returned her smile with a big one of my own, and said, “no I’ll have two, thank you,” I smiled abashed.

I followed her to the counter where she wrote a list of the prices of candy with a piece of paper and a pen, added them up the same way I learned to do addition with paper and pen. She told me the total and I handed her my credit card. As I waited for my receipt, I looked up and saw a sign that read, 95 years in business. My thoughts were interrupted by the woman handing me my credit card and saying thank you. I said, “thank you and merry Christmas,” turned around and walked towards the door. The candy house was not a place to linger four days before Christmas. So, picked my way through the customers walking and I heard “number 31.”

When I reached the door, I turned back around for a moment and looked at the sign. I breathed in the smell one last time. I stepped through the door to the parking lot; I did not know if this was the last time I would come here. I both smiled and had tears behind my eyes. Going to that red shingle building was like visiting my great grandmother. I remembered when she was 95. I remembered the smell, both warm, sweet and old that enveloped me when I walked in her house. I remembered the box of fudge tucked in the China cabinet out of sight, but not out of mind. I felt grateful that this building brought her back into my presence. And I felt sad that I didn’t know when it’ll end.

I wouldn’t know about this candy house without my great grandmother. Their fudge was her favorite thing. It was the only gift she allowed anyone to give her. And it was one of the things she shared generously with me. My great grandmother would be 136 years old if she were alive today. The thought made me feel simultaneously old and brought me right back to myself when I was 20 and my great grandmother was 95.

I bought the fudge for my mom and her two sisters as a Christmas gift even though I was not sure if they really care to have it anymore. I bought the fudge because I couldn’t buy it from my grandmother anymore. I bought the fudge because I hoped for some connection, some glimmer of recognition and love from my mom and my aunts that it wasn’t about the fudge. It was about our family. So, really I bought the fudge for me; for the feelings and the memories I wanted to feel connected to, especially at Christmas.