Ossi dei morti
bones of the dead cookies
Growing up my mother kept an alter on her bedroom dresser with funeral cards propped up on it of loved ones who had died, and would light a candle occasionally, illuminating the painted pictures on it. I don’t remember who was depicted in the pictures. Was it Mary? Or Jesus? A random saint perhaps? I was always fascinated by it as a kid, and secretly wanted it for myself. When I’d tell that to Michael, he’d think I was crazy considering I’d dropped out of Catholicism years before we met.
Today I live a life deeply influenced by Judaism, raising our children to cherish and honor the Jewish heritage of their father—their Jewish heritage. And yet, that flame from that alter still flickers in my mind. My sister has it now, one of the few objects remaining from my mother’s apartment. A blue Ikea bag sits on my bedroom floor, filled with two photo albums, an old TV Guide commemorating the 25th anniversary of the Beatles, a plastic measuring cup and other chotckes. It's an eclectic mix that would make no sense to anyone else but makes up snippets of my childhood.
She’s in long term care now in a nursing home in Brooklyn. I don’t know what’s harder—not knowing how long she has, or seeing her life as it is now, hooked up to an oxygen machine 24/7 with a host of health issues and dementia. There’s a lot of complicated feelings, more troubling memories than I care to remember. But last week as we sat together in her room watching old game shows, I rested my head on her shoulder, and whispered, “remember how you used to brush your hand across my forehead to help me fall asleep?” The next moment, her hand was there, on my forehead, brushing away my bangs, and soothing me.
I live in so many worlds—that of the living, the dead, my Catholic upbringing and my Jewish life, seamlessly going between them in the invisible walls of my mind. Time has taught me I don’t have to choose. I can inhabit them all.
Tomorrow is All Saint’s Day in the Christian calendar. I didn’t have a yarzheit candle to burn in memory of Michael on Yom Kippur. I finally picked one up thinking I’d light it on our 20th wedding anniversary a couple of weeks ago. It’s still sitting on my desk. I plan to light it tonight before I go to bed, living life according to my own rules, trying to make sense out of a world that often lacks it.
Simmering, is a reader-supported newsletter about life from behind the stove. To start enjoying the recipes that accompany each post, consider becoming a paid subscriber. Benefits include access to all recipes with printable downloads and e-cookbooks. Subscriptions start at $2.50 per month when paid annually.