The Magic Of The Smell Of My Mom’s Bread Creative Writing Example

I woke up late that morning. I had an intense feeling of tiredness. In fact, it was one of those mornings when I felt like doing nothing. But, it was the beginning of the day and as much as I would have loved to stay in bed I knew I had to get up. I reached for my lifesaver. I needed it to open my eyes fully and drag myself out of bed. And yes, it worked as usual. My morning coffee was always there to help me to start a new day. The freshness of that glorious coffee mingled easily with the fresh air as I opened the windows. That lazy feeling was slowly disappearing and I had new thoughts that the day would be better.
I inhaled deeply and thought of what I would do with my day. There was so much to do and so little time. Then, out of nowhere, my thoughts were interrupted by something wonderful. I easily forgot the smell of coffee and the freshness of the air. This smell was different in so many ways. I could smell the yeast flowing through the cracks of the door. Mom had that special skill that only mothers possessed. Was this real? Could it be that mom was baking that special bread again? She had that touch that could make heaven come to earth and we all looked forward to Friday nights when that smell hit the core of our very existence. What could I say? Today must be a special day. The smell of the yeast filled bread sent ripples of delight through my body.
The smell of bread could do wonders when it is filled with love and my Mom’ bread had the smell of love and care combined with the fresh ingredients that made my mouth water with anticipation. It was just the same smell that brought us together as a family at dinner every Friday. I truly believed that mom created magic on Fridays. It is the day that we all have to set in the same table to eat our special dinner that was made by my mother’s special hands. It was a day that we all had to cancel everything we had and meet together. We ate dinner in the dining room in the glass table with ten white chairs. It was the table that my parents bought when they bought our home. Each of us was assigned a special seat. My father used to sit at the head of the table and my mother, of course sat next to him. On the other side, my little brother sat anxiously awaiting the moment when we could all eat.
I often told my mother that she possessed a magical touch that could turn on everything. Her hands were blessed, and every place she touched in the home felt like heaven. On Fridays, we all woke up early and prepared and waited for my big sister and her little angels to join us in the special our special day. Our anxiety never wavered for a minute. Then, finally, it’s time to start the dinner. My father used to say that he always wishing that every day is Friday so we can all sit and enjoy our meal.
Then, each of us talked about our week and how we spend it. That was my favorite part as it meant that we were sharing more than our dinner. We were sharing our lives over bread. My little sister complained constantly about her school, the teachers, the exams, and just about everything associated with school. My older sister talked about her students and how she loves listening to their stories and what she taught them. Then my little brother would amaze us with his about school and what he learned in school and how he helped my mother to make the dinner so my father could compliment him.
The bond of family was great in my home as we were able to talk and learn about each other as the years passed. But, it was the moments that father told us about his childhood and the challenges he faced that as a young boy. He would also tell us about how grateful he was for the bonds of family even though his life was easier before he had a family. But, his love was clear as he looked at each of us and reminded himself of how grateful he was for the bonds of family. His love was even greater for our mother as he looked at her with adoration. For many persons, a dinner of bread would probably have been no big achievement, but in my family it was a milestone that would forever be etched in our hearts. It was the foundation of the bond of love.
I missed those days. I often reminisce on those nights when my father would play his favorite singer song and then it chess time. My brother was always the winner, but no one cared because we enjoyed the happiness of those days. I did not think that living so far, far away would force on the round of nostalgia that often hits me when I smell my mother’s bread. I look around me now and I realize that the smell of that glorious bread that cemented the bonds of love was no longer present in my life. Despite my efforts to capture my mother’s magical touch, I slowly began to accept that my live had changed and it lacked the smell of my mother’s bread. I now have my own angels. They are grown and my youngest has started talking. She recognizes my family’s faces but not mine.
I cannot control the tears now as I stand in the middle of the kitchen. How did I get here? But, that does not matter because the memories finally take control. I missed my mother’s magic touch, and especially when I feel sick. I missed the way her bread provided comfort when I was in pain and how it turned every hard moment to easy ones. It is hard being far from this feeling. I didn’t imagine that one day I will fight in this world without you mom. I am trying now to be copy of my mother. Dressing like her, acting like her, cooking like her, cleaning the same way that she used to clean.
I tried desperately to be the adult daughter she always wanted me to be. But, being so far from your touch has taught me to be stronger. I am strong now. I am responsible now. I have stopped crying for every bad thing that happened or from the nostalgia of the past, from listening to your favorite songs. I stopped asking for help from you because I have finally learned how to do everything by my own. But, it has taken me a long time to be like this.
I slept once without locking my home door because mom used to do it for us. She used to check the doors lock, the gas, the electricity cables before she go to sleep. I am trying to do the same, to be adult, to be responsible. Then I sit in my couch and told myself it is just the smell of the bread that brought with it all these memories. I learned that there is nothing like the bond of family. But, our bond was stronger because it was cemented in love and communication and the wonders of bread on a Friday evening.