On a Sentimental Note

I just wanted to share this with you:

Tonight we had dinner, tanjine of course. Before we started eating, she pulls out a pitcher of this white liquid, it looks like whole milk. I ask for just a little, this is an unheard of amount in Tamazight because no matter what, they will pour a whole glassful for you. So “bismillah” and we start eating dinner and I take a swig of white liquid. It’s buttermilk. I have a hard time hiding faces in the first place, but buttermilk has a distinct flavor. My mom gave me a funny look and I tell her it tastes great and take another sip. But within that second sip, I had a flashback to my Aunt Polly. I thought that it was such a crazy coincidence that at that exact moment I made a connection from my current situation to memories of her.

The fact that these people have opened up their home to me, invited me in, treated me with the greatest amount of hospitality I have ever been shown. Later, after the meal, the host grandmother explains to me that she sees my host mom and me as sisters, “kif-kif,” and that I am always welcome in their home. Shortly afterwards, my host mom starts tearing up talking about next week when I leave. Over a glass of buttermilk, I am brought back to memories of my Aunt Polly and her relationship with my family, especially with my mom.

When my parents moved to Gastonia, NC, my mom was befriended by this sweet old lady named Pauline Taylor. My mom went to the same grocery store all the time and this dear old woman used to bag my mom’s groceries. They quickly got to be friends. My mom was brand new to the area, pregnant with me, and this lady showed her unlimited amounts of hospitality and goodwill and became a familiar face in a new and unfamiliar place. I remember going over to Aunt Polly’s house and drinking milk and eating just-made blueberry pineapple muffins. They were incredible. We used to play with her figurines in the living room and entertain ourselves while my mom and Aunt Polly would sit in the kitchen and talk. I remember raking her yard in the fall and playing hide and go seek in the back yard. Later on, Aunt Polly had to move into a rest home. My mom would go and visit her at least once a week. My mom valued their friendship a lot. And I know Aunt Polly loved mom. Even our vehicle choices later on, mom would consider if our Aunt Polly would be able to get in and out of the door easily. Aunt Polly was incredibly active and healthy as she got older and older. The other residents at the rest home would always ask who my mom was and frequently confused her as her daughter or relative. She was always introduced as her special friend. Mom made it her priority to make sure that Aunt Polly was comfortable. She would go shopping for her for Christmas and her birthday. My mom knew her likes and dislikes. She would hem the pants of the outfit so it would fit just right. My mom was the best daughter that woman ever had.

When Aunt Polly died a few years ago it felt like a grandmother had passed away. Her health had been declining some and she was 92 years old. No matter how I tried to prepare myself, it still hurt when my mom called to tell me that she was gone. I believe out of all of Aunt Polly’s family and friends, my mom was the closest to her. I feel like my mom was the most devastated when this woman was no longer apart of her life. The relationship my mom had with this sweet, sweet old lady was significant and unique. Their relationship was one-of-a-kind. I was in school at the time and was unable to make it to the funeral. And over this glass of buttermilk, in rural Morocco, where I am learning this old, dying language, I was reminded of this sweet, sweet old lady who had befriended my mom over 24 years ago. I stifled some tears that came, because trying to explain this to my host family would be rocket science. I looked around at the women sitting next to me, headscarves and brown eyes and weathered faces and felt a gratitude I can’t explain. I don’t believe in fate, or destiny, but I do like to find comfort in the coincidences, comfort in the full circle. Hospitality, friendship, family relationships and the generosity of humankind is unmistakable and despite our culture and language difficulties, we laugh about the same things. And for the first time since I have been away, I find myself shedding a few tears writing this. That’s comforting too. Love you mom.