Fear of Kool-aid

So the other day, I made some really good Kool-aid.

I had been craving some for the past couple of weeks for some odd reason, and my mom finally brought some home.

So, I was extremely excited.

I got the big pitcher and big spoon, and was ready for action.

First I filled the pitcher with water.
Second, I added about 16 packets of kool-aid. Don't worry, it was the small single packets...I'm not that crazy.
Third, I sliced lemons and threw those in there too.
Fourth, I added about 3 half cups of sugar.
Fifth, I added ice.
Finally, I mixed it all together and was just yearning to taste it.

I know that Kool-aid may not seem that interesting to other people, but to me, this was much more than kool-aid.

The whole process of preparing it was a nostalgic experience that brought me back to times when my family felt complete.

Back at my old kitchen, with my sister, my mom, and my dad.

I don't know why, but getting the kool-aid to taste exactly the way it used to back in those days was extremely vital to me. It felt like a life or death situation, and if I didn't get it absolutely right, then some catastrophic event would occur.

So I picked up a plastic cup, poured a little of the drink in it, and waited to learn my fate.


It was good. It was really good.




But it wasn't the same...at all.

No, I didn't explode into oblivion and the world didn't end like I thought.

But something even worse happened.

My fear that things will never be the same again after my dad's death was confirmed.