The Yahrzeit candle is burning on the kitchen counter. It is the only light in the room on this pre-dawn morning. I remember when these candles of memory were taller and wider, and my Aunt Molly used to save them for drinking glasses. Aunt Molly was the queen of candles. She experienced many losses in her life and on Yom Kippur there was a tray full of these flickering lights, each one lit with a tear and a sigh. Her greatest loss was her daughter Barbara, who according to family legend, died on the operating table having an appendectomy when the hospital lost power during the 1938 Hurricane. (Hurricanes weren’t named until 1950).

We don’t grieve like Aunt Molly anymore. (Although in the Australian series, “A Place To Call Home”, that Eileen and I are addicted to Sarah lies down on her husband’s grave to talk and connect with him.) As a kid, visiting my grandparents’ graves with Aunt Molly I remember how they used to have to hold her up as she went to throw herself down wailing, “my Barbara”.

Morning has broken (I know: “like the first morning…”). The candle on the counter still flickers and the memory of my mother-in-law hovers to be inscribed and internalized in our goings and comings. Bea wasn’t a great sleeper, and neither was I. After we met at the refrigerator door in the middle of the night, she learned to wear a bathrobe as she came from her bedroom. We got to know each other there: she with her cornflakes, me with whatever I could scrounge. She was her Hebrew name: B’rachah – meaning blessing.

I am not sure what I think these compact candles do. The author of Proverbs said that “the human soul is the light (Hebrew: candle) of God.” I don’t know what that meant back then. I am not sure I know what it means now. I do know that last night when we lit the candle, Eileen brought her mother up to date with the goings and comings of the family.  She told her “I wish you could have lived longer to see the beauty and the joy of the last 30 years.” There is nothing terribly rational about that but there is everything that is true on so many levels. Life is about memories and we strive to make them sweet and meaningful. It’s been a tough few months to do that. And so my candle whispers:

To making new and better memories in the New Year: Shana Tovah

“Morning has broken

Like the first morning;

Blackbird has spoken

Like the first bird.

Praise for the singing

Praise for the morning

Praise for them springing fresh from the word.”

(Cat Stevens)

To making new memories in the New Year: Shana Tovah