Pesto
I never know when the wave will hit. Tonight, I made pesto the first time this season. It’s one of my all-time favorite foods. Each year, I freeze gallons (really) to get me through the winter, until basil is fresh again. In recent years, I’d make two batches to sustain us; one dairy and one non. I’d store the vegan variety in smaller containers. I would always say that, “Maya chose our family well. If she had to be a vegan with anyone, we were a good choice.” I also would make comments about how she “one-upped us.” It was not enough to be a lifelong vegetarian. She really needed to live her values to the max. She lived her life to the max. That was Maya. That is Maya, still, somehow.
As I was processing the basil leaves, tears welled up. As the reggae music that I had hoped to dance to changed its tune to “Three Little Birds,” (the song that goes, “don’t you worry, about a thing…every little thing, is gonna be alright”) was blasting, the tears went from welling up to flooding out. Every little thing is NOT alright! Oh, what I would do to fill the freezer with vegan pesto again; to fill it for our Maya.
I never know when the wave will hit.
Oh, Elise. Tears welling up in me too, as I read this. I spontaneously sense that Maya will always be welling up inside of us with that
‘to the max’ way of hers.
Sending basil-scented kisses and warm hugs, Sarah
This post has me crying with you
Wow Elise I am impressed that you grow so much basil for gallons of pesto! That’s admirable! I have to plant more basil and freeze it! So sorry for the pain and loss of Maya! I’m sending you hugs and loads of caring to lift you up during these difficult times!
Holding you tight, Elise.
Betty
It’s that terrible year of “the firsts.” The birthdays and holidays are the ones you can prepare for a bit, but this – you don’t even realize it until you’re in the middle of it.
Maya may be physically gone, but she is still so present…
💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜
Thank you for sharing this, Elise.
Kole made the first batch of our pesto this past weekend here at our place. I am feeling your family’s terrible loss today.
Love, David
So true. Grief comes in waves and you never know when one will swamp the little sailboat you’re bravely navigating around in. Bail out and keep sailing – Maya is somewhere and I believe she’s whole and brilliant wherever she is.
Wish I could have been there to give you a hug when that huge wave hit. On a much smaller scale, I feel the same way, about the loved ones I’ve lost. A wave of grief can come anytime – albeit a much smaller one. You picked the perfect metaphor my dear. You never know when a wave will hit – but you do know it will pass. I’ve never been hit by the tidal waves that engulf you without warning. I pray they will diminish both in frequency and force, with time.
Waves are also an incredibly apt metaphor for giving birth – as you know, used by many a midwife and birth book. Something I liked about this post is that it’s as much about *you* as Maya. So too are these waves about you. What is being born is long-term acceptance.
It’s impossible to predict if Maya would have remained a vegan for life, had she lived to old age. But in her lifelong determination that you write about, she manifested a trait inherited from you – evident in your own sincere and heartfelt efforts – including, ironically, tragically, this grieving process.
We won’t let you drown.
Enjoy that pesto, and the memory preserves.
All my love to you on this sunny July day.
xoxoxo
Y.
Elise though I read and cherish your writing here always. I am a hesitant responder in the digital realm I think of Maya often throughout my weeks. Though I rarely saw her when I did she always touched me with her emotional and her intellectual presence. Her aliveness was amazing. I miss her. I grieve for you and I grieve for me. Thank you for your openness
often, but especially after reading your words, Maya is in front of me, so vibrant …
cooking together, or playing the ‘tree game” she taught me in the woods, or reading picture books together, as she looks at me with tolerant appreciation and says, “you’re crying!”
I’ll love her always
and you
Leslie
My dear sister. So many touching thoughts in your post, but what hit me so hard, I guess, was that you were hoping to dance to the music, an activity that brings you some pleasure. Instead, you were overwhelmed by such grief, as the music and words changed. How cruel…. You deserve to dance, and I pray that you’re able to, real soon. XO
You speak the truth, Elise. The waves are beyond our control. All we can do is let them wash over us, sometimes tumble us underwater, and sometimes give us a rushing ride.
Love,
Jonathan
My heart breaks with yours.
You and Maya are in my thoughts each time I plant, cut and wash the basil. Sharing tears.