Lessons in grieving

and a recipe for Lucia’s amazing walnut bars

How do you fathom immeasurable grief?

It’s a question I’ve been struggling with in two short weeks since we lost our beautiful sister Lucia.

When you lose a parent, it is a blow to the heart, a chipping away at the certainty of life. And when you become an orphan, a parentless child no matter what your age, the bedrock upon which you stand of being unconditionally loved shifts forevermore.

Yet, still, we expect our parents to predecease us. In the unwritten order of things, that circle of life seems inevitable.

But I didn’t ever contemplate the well of loss that would open like a chasm in my heart when I lost one of my sisters.

Happy days, forecast sunny.

The real deal

informal

:something or someone that is real or genuine: a thing or person that is not a copy or imitation.

It is quite often the sad truth of life that it is only in our grief we begin to chronicle the ways we loved the person we lost. We try to capture in words the essence of their being, their life force, in many ways incalculable.

Lucia was the eldest of us three, and indisputably the best of us all: the real deal. My niece Marla captured Lucia beautifully in the following:

My dearest Aunt Lucia recently passed, and I still cannot bring myself to believe it is true. Her personality was pure gold, she had the brightest spirit with the best outlook on life, and a laugh that was truly unforgettable. She was always thinking of others and loved her family immeasurably. Lucia had a way of making everything positive, found a solution to any problem, and a listening ear and perspective I will miss so much.

Lucia touched more people than we’ll ever know, made friends with everyone, even people she’d just pass by. She had a love for ‘junking’, her work family at JetBlue, and her life with her husband in South Carolina. Lucia’s son, my cousin Kyle, was the apple of her eye, and his son Ollie was her heart.

I will forever be grateful for Lucia travelling to be there for all the important stuff in my life and every place I’ve lived, from Northern Ontario to London, England. There are a lifetime of memories I will forever lovingly look back on…I just wish there were still more ahead to make.

Lucia in Iceland on one of our many sisters’ trips, holding part of an iceberg. A laugh, loud and clear as a clarion, a call for everyone within its hearing to feel the same ring of joy.

The gift of grief

Mostly it is loss that teaches us about the worth of things.

—Arthur Schopenhauer

In the throes of our despair, we may often forget that grief is a great teacher, as unwelcome a visitor as it may be.

As I have been muddling through an ocean of feelings, a lifetime of memories, I’ve been reminded that words are a solace, that in the act of writing, I find a way into my sorrow.

Might I offer the following poem to you? It is the beginnings of my understanding of how grief appears to destroy us, but ultimately gives us great gifts, if we allow ourselves to open our arms to its presence.

Lessons in grieving

This business of grieving is
a tricky thing.
It creeps up on cat’s feet or
pounces like a lion.
It’s as if it doesn’t know its own strength.

Sometimes it’s a river, with a current
so strong that you can’t help but be swept away and 
submerged…

and then it imitates summer rain, 
soft and warm and delicate, 
eventually making a puddle of your best intentions 
to be strong.

What grief doesn’t do is announce itself.
It is always an uninvited guest, the extra place setting 
at the table of your regrets.

And still, it is indispensable.
A gift that’s never asked for but of great value
nonetheless. 

What matters most is to allow it ample space and
time to do its work…
that difficult work of holding tight
and letting go,

and holding tight again,
in a rhythm that is as ancient as the tide 
slowly slowly 
breathing in and out,
as soft and malleable 
as grains of sand.

And even as that tide of grief pushes back 
and rushes in again with a force that 
knocks you off your feet,
still it washes up to shore treasures big and small—

a tiny shell fragment of memory almost forgotten,
a big beautiful piece of coral as sharp and clean 
as the last text you received,
the last conversation you remember, 
the last meal that you shared,
as if it happened yesterday.

Or it might be a sea snail, 
alive and fierce as it clambers away from your grasp,
a reminder that we are still here, still alive
still able to feel joy and sorrow 
in equal measure.

We do not want to be schooled in grief,
these hard, hard lessons:
yet, if we pay attention, 
they are the ones with the most to teach.

The lesson may be 
that grief is the twin of joy,

that it is part of the family.
The relative that visits less frequently 
And that should always be welcomed 
with open arms.

The lesson may well be that nothing ever disappears 
when it is rooted 
in our hearts.

We three in Washington, one of a baker’s dozen of sisters trips we’ve taken together over the years.

Lucia, you are the light of our hearts. I have been blessed to have you in my life in my every minute on this earth, and I will miss you forever. Yet I still know you are here, your laughter filling my darkest hours with joy.

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Lucia’s walnut bars

makes about 4 dozen

Every Christmas, Lucia baked up dozens of her delicious walnut bars, at once sweet and chewy and crunchy; a holiday tradition and family favourite.

Lucia knew that Richard could handily eat the generous tin all by himself, so she would quietly slip him a tin of his own to tuck away and enjoy later. These bars were always a sweet reminder of wonderful family time together. Even more, they were the embodiment of Lucia’s being: warm, generous, and above all else thoughtful.

Four simple ingredients, almost sure to be in your house.  To make them especially good, add Lucia’s secret ingredient: loving kindness.  It will put them over the top.   

NOTE: Graham crackers are usually rectangular in shape, 5” long by 2½”. The quantity called for in the recipe is for 12 5”x2½” rectangles.

Ingredients

2 sticks butter (8 oz)

1½ cup brown sugar (slightly packed)

1½ cups finely chopped walnuts

12 graham cracker rectangles (see note)

1. Heat oven to 350F.

2. In a medium saucepan over medium-low heat, combine butter, sugar and walnuts and stir until the butter and sugar have melted. Cool nut mixture for about 15 minutes, stirring occasionally until the mixture is smooth.

3. While nut mixture is cooling, line a 9x12 baking sheet with aluminum foil, ensuring the foil covers the bottom and sides completely. Place whole graham crackers on the sheet in a single layer, arranging them horizontally (with the longer edge parallel to the longer side of the pan). Fit the crackers closely together so they cover the entire surface. If needed, break smaller pieces to fill any gaps along the edges.

   

4. Spread on the graham crackers, using an offset spatula, regular spatula or knife. Because the mixture is sticky, be patient. Make sure to reach all the edges of the crackers.

5. Bake 10 minutes or until the top is bubbling. Watch carefully: the sugar can burn quickly.

6. Remove the cookie sheet from the oven and let it cool for 5 minutes. Carefully lift the foil with the baked crackers from one side of the cookie sheet and transfer it onto a cutting board or countertop. Using a sharp knife, cut the crackers along the pre-scored lines, first lengthwise and then widthwise. You can cut each cracker into two or four pieces, depending on your preferred size. Since these bars are quite sweet, smaller pieces make a perfect treat!

7. Let the squares cool completely. Place in airtight container, using wax paper between layers. These can be made ahead and stored in the fridge or frozen for one month.