Simply Delicious

On nostalgia.

The day before Thanksgiving, my sister and I lined up our four boys for a photo. Ages 5, 3, 2, and four months. This is the first proper picture we have of them all sitting up. The whole family gathered around, waving their arms, trying to get everyone to look in the same direction. Impossible.

Suddenly, I heard my grandma Eileen’s voice, clear as day: “Look at them! One is more gorgeous than the next. Simply delicious!” It was so vivid I turned over my shoulder to check if she was behind me. The holidays do that to me. Something about the nostalgia makes it easier to access the echoes of my loved ones. Perhaps it is the same for you?

My mom was like that too—finding ways to bring her own mother back, even after losing her to Alzheimer’s. During the holidays, she’d revive her through familiar lines. When we made stuffing for the turkey, she’d remind me how her mom always warned her, “Don’t stir the shit out of it.” And then we’d laugh and stir as fast as we could, determined to smush out every last lump.

I think we do this—conjure their voices—to soften the bittersweetness of celebrating the holiday season without them. The memories themselves feel like a salve. While our loved ones may not be with us, the things we used to do together are, and that is worth a lot.

My mom grew up Jewish in Minot, North Dakota, not exactly the land of the Yids. She loved to sing and perform, so she joined her school choir, and as fall slid into winter, the songs turned to Christmas. Unsure how to keep her faith while singing, she decided she would refrain from saying “Jesus.” In her child’s mind, that felt like the most kosher solution. So she replaced His name with a gentle little “hmm-hmm” in every hymn.

I was in my local toy store on Monday, shopping for Hanukkah gifts for my boys, when “Away in a Manger” came on over the speakers. Right in the aisle, there was my mom singing: “Away in a manger, no crib for a bed, the little Lord hmm-hmm laid down His sweet head.” I chuckled. She was doing some holiday shopping with me. Not as good as the real thing, but better than nothing at all.

As we lined the boys up, beginning what I’m optimistically calling a “tradition,” I wondered which part of this they’ll actually remember one day. Probably not the part where we lovingly arranged them with the bigs on the outside and the littles in the middle. More likely, they’ll remember the part where their mothers were screaming at them frantically to get their attention. And honestly, if that’s what echoes for them in twenty years, great as long as it leads back to memories of us.

Here’s bottom half of the “photo.” I haven’t decided how I feel about sharing their faces here yet, so this is what I can offer. Drop a heart if you liked, and whatever echoes you can recall below.