Memory and Midrash

In October my close friend of over 40 years died unexpectedly. After burying her and starting to deal with her estate, I realized that along with all Sue’s property I had inherited Auntie Bea’s silver Shabbat candlesticks. Many of us have an Auntie Bea, a family matriarch who looms larger than life in our childhoods and continues to dispense largesse until they die. Mine was Aunt Vera, Sue had Auntie Bea. I remembered the candlesticks well, they looked exactly like Joan’s and Bea Matlin’s (though Bea’s were brass). Sue’s Friday night candle lighting was usually at my house, with my candlesticks, and Auntie Bea’s candlesticks eventually disappeared from her fireplace mantle. As I packed and deconstructed Sue’s household, I looked for Auntie Bea’s candlesticks, visualizing them out of retirement and lit once again at my Shabbat table. It literally wasn’t until the last day, in the very last closet on the bottom of a stack that I found the box labeled “candlesticks”, and there, finally, I found Auntie Bea’s silver candlesticks. And they were totally and completely different than how I remembered them. I mean, totally.