Eulogy for Jessica by Sheryl
My memories of Madre are interwoven with cooking and the preparation of delicious meals. I would venture to say that most people here are the beneficiaries of this particular talent from her—a package of cookies, tea or lunch or dinner served on her special china plates where she would listen most interestedly to all your news and ask the best questions. Or perhaps a meal brought after a baby was born or to help after an illness. For Madre, food and cooking were her “love language”—her way to share, to connect, to welcome, to comfort, to celebrate. And as she fed our bodies, she nourished our souls.
I first met my future parents-in-law about a month after David and I met, at a belated party for his 30th birthday. He had organized a beautiful brunch with a lox and bagel platter, side salads, and delicious desserts (who knows, perhaps Madre even made them, although I don’t remember now). There was quite a bit of food left over—vegetables, cheese, lox—and his mother was musing about what they were going to do with it all. Without even stopping to think, I said, “I know what we can do. We’ll make quiche!” I think she may have made up her mind then and there that I would do just fine.
And through all the years, we had a special relationship. She was always so generous in sharing recipes and cooking techniques, and she especially loved to cook with the kids. We have plenty of photos of young Noah and Rafael making cookies and bread with Grandma Jessica. But Rafael showed us just a couple of days ago a series of photos taken shortly before she moved out of the house. It was of a now young adult Rafael and his grandma making bread together still.
Madre was one of the only people I was comfortable having cook or clean in my kitchen, and I like to believe that I was one of the only people she was comfortable having work in *her* kitchen. By example, she showed us what it looked like to prep and host large family meals. The first time David and I made Pesach for my extended family in Maryland—including phone timers that said things like “take the brisket out of the oven and put in the chicken”!—okay, that was a little crazy—30 people crammed into our tiny living room and dining room—but we were able to carry it off because she showed how.
On Sunday morning, March 2, I wanted to make something special for breakfast, since it was Rafael’s first day home for spring break. I pulled out the binder of recipes Madre had given David and me right before we were married. It has had pride of place in our collection of cookbooks for nearly 30 years, and we use it a number of times each month. I made her recipe for corn bread, and it was simply delicious warm from the oven, moist and not too sweet.
That afternoon, we got the news that she had passed away. And by Monday mid-day, we were here in St. Louis. In her apartment, we discovered in the freezer the last few cookies and muffins she ever baked. David, Rachel, and I looked at each other and said “These are for the grandkids”! Yes, Noah, Jonathan, Rafael, they are for you—Grandma’s legacy.
The sweetness of the tens of thousands of cookies she baked throughout her lifetime is a reflection of the sweetness she carried within herself and gave to other people. We only hope it will help carry us through the coming days and weeks and months and years.