Cookies. Banana Bread

Tonight was the third time I sat shiva, and I am aware I have never observed it in the traditional manner.

Yet I do believe my friend, Arlene, knew and understood my inadequacy in the observation of her belief that differed from mine.

Pat, Dot and I were her friends for over ten years, We three aged slowly but surely together, The news of her death cannot be easily described. I cannot quite find the words even as I search my well worn thesaurus.

When the shock of her death seemed to soften, I began to remember the first time I sat shiva.

John, my beloved oldest son, and I walked a short distance down the road to his friend, Daniel’s home. John carried the loaf of homemade banana bread I had baked earlier that morning.

His Mom, Cynthia, and I became friends standing at the bus stop the morning our two boys began kindergarten.

Cynthia was tall, willowy and efficient as she managed both family and her husband’s growing dental practice.

I was also tall, but not efficient and more than a bit challenged by my lively family of three youngsters soon to be four.

Still somehow despite all our differences we became great friends.

Cynthia soon volunteered to became my daughter’s math tutor. Not long afterwards, my newborn son inherited Dan’s crib.

On another afternoon several years later, the friendship ended when John and I passed the familiar bus stop as we walked quietly together. We were en route to say goodbye to an amazing woman, Cynthia..

Three decades later, long after Dan and John had left to successfully seek their fortune, I learned of the demise of Alice, another beloved friend and neighbor.

She and I had both relocated after our spouses had died.

I was now a resident far from the familiar cul de sac we once shared and Alice had moved into a condo closer to her daughter.

I could not bake a banana bread nor sit in shiva, but instead sent a box of the Merritt Bakery butter cookies Alice always sent me on Christmas. Although we worshipped our Maker from different pews, she never forgot to share my Christian traditions.

She sat in a pew at Madonna Heights the day I said goodbye to my beloved and I stood by the grave when she buried her beloved Borah.

Tonight I am unable to bring banana bread or butter cookies, but I truly believe I will sit in shiva with the three friends who taught me so much about life, love and generosity as well as friendship.

And also, worshipping our Maker from different pews.