DIED 2017
TODAY I DROVE TO Delaware to see my aunt buried between the tombstones of her two children. It was a Jewish funeral, so the mourners passed a shovel among them to throw dirt on the coffin. My uncle seemed to have shrunk to the size of a large doll.
In my childhood, we drove to Delaware every Thanksgiving. It was six hours round trip and my father was a total ass about it, but that was just his way. The best thing was my aunt’s stuffed artichokes, packed with lemony, garlicky breadcrumbs. For years I thought stuffed artichokes were like cranberry sauce or sweet potatoes with marshmallows, a special food eaten only on Thanksgiving. She also introduced us to the joy of the miniature dachshund, the official dog breed of our family to this day.
When my aunt was eight years old and my mother sixteen, their mother ran off with another man, leaving them in the care of their father, a terrible tyrant. Even as it dumped on my mother a life-changing overabundance of responsibility, this turn of events so traumatized my aunt that she suffered a period of hysterical paralysis. (I heard this so often as a child that I recite it here with confidence, though I have never heard this condition mentioned in any other context.) From that time on, my aunt was well aware that the universe was against her. What god makes a mother bury both of her children? Still, she had to get through the days, so she doted on my uncle and found joy where she could. Shopping. Lunch. Studies have been conducted to prove that smiling, even if you don’t feel like smiling, will actually make you happier. My aunt could have told them that. I think she could have told them exactly how much.
In later years, I never saw her without a jigsaw puzzle spread out on her dining room table. This was the legacy of the terrible tyrant, who had raised his daughters with strict rules about puzzle procedure. First you find the edges and put them together. Then you sort the other pieces by color. You never pick up a piece unless you already know where it goes. There is a piece for every spot, and if there isn’t, check under the table. There’s no luck about it. Keep going, and you will receive one of life’s few predictable satisfactions, the joy of putting in the last piece.