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My Late Mom and I Shared a Christmas Hershey’s Tradition—She Passed Away This Year, but It Led Me to a Truth I Never Expected
Everything reminded me of Mom.
People kept telling me it would get easier, that grief softens with time. But how much time does it take?
On the 20th, there was no escaping it.
The promise sat in my chest like a stone. Mom had asked so little of me in her final days—how could I refuse her this?
I can’t do this without her, the thought circled my mind as I walked into the grocery store. What was the point? Who was I keeping the tradition for?
Then muscle memory took over.
I grabbed the chocolate automatically. Then two coffees.
My body knew what December 20th meant, even if my heart hadn’t caught up yet.
The walk to the park felt longer than usual. Colder. I kept expecting to hear her voice beside me, commenting on the weather or pointing out Christmas lights she liked.
When I reached the bench, I stopped cold.
A man, shivering in the cold. He wore a thin jacket that had clearly seen better days—maybe better years.
His eyes were bloodshot, dark circles sagging beneath them.
But what caught my attention was the giant Hershey’s bar resting in his lap.
When he saw me, his face crumpled with relief.
“Thank God,” he whispered. “I’ve been waiting here since sunrise. I was afraid I’d missed you.”
I stopped a few feet away, clutching the coffees.
My mind struggled to process what I was seeing. That was our bench. Mine and Mom’s. And that Hershey’s bar—it was our tradition.
“I’m sorry… have we met?”
“No,” he said. “But I knew your mother.”
The fact that he’d been waiting for me made the words feel heavier.
“How did you know my mom?”
He swallowed hard. His hands were shaking—not just from the cold.
“Your mom kept a secret from you. She made me promise to reveal it when the moment was right. And now it’s time.”
Mom’s words echoed in my head—how she’d asked me to promise I’d follow my heart when the time came.
Was this the moment she’d meant?
The coffee cups burned in my hands, but I couldn’t move.
“What secret?”
“Your mother and I had a child together,” he said quietly. “You.”
I stared at him. “No…”
“I’m your father.”
“My dad died. That’s what my mom told me.”
He nodded. “She lied to protect you. I left when you were only a few months old—and I regretted it every day.”
“Then why did you leave?”
He looked down at the chocolate. “I fell in love with someone else while your mom was pregnant. A colleague… she led me astray.”
“Led you astray?”
“Exactly. I never cheated. I walked away instead.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Congratulations.”
“My life never really worked after that,” he said. “Nothing lasted. Jobs. Relationships. I was cursed. I tried to come back a few times.”
“When?”
“Every couple of years. When things started going badly again, I tried to make penance with your mom.”
Not because he missed me—but because his life wasn’t working.
“And I’m guessing she shut the door in your face.”
“Every time—except the last. Earlier this year. She told me about your tradition.”
“What changed?”
“I’m sick,” he said. “My liver is failing. I need a donor.”
Everything clicked.
“So you’re here,” I said, “to ask me to save you.”
“I’m here to ask you to consider it.”
And there it was—the choice Mom had prepared me for.
I saw my own features in his face now. My nose. My chin.
But how could I do this?
It was one thing to forgive him. Another to give him part of my body.
I stepped away from the bench. From the Hershey’s bar that now felt like a trap.
How could Mom have shared this sacred ritual with him?
But was I the kind of person who could let someone die because I was angry?
“I need time to think.”
“I’ll be here every day,” he said. “Please don’t turn your back on me.”
I walked away.
I didn’t know what I would decide—but Mom believed I was strong enough to choose.
And I would try to do what was right.
Source: amomama.com
Note: This story is a work of fiction inspired by real events. Names, characters, and details have been altered. Any resemblance is coincidental. The author and publisher disclaim accuracy, liability, and responsibility for interpretations or reliance. All images are for illustration purposes only.
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