Marshmallow Cookies

Some things are so painful, I avoid them. And then there comes a trigger, completely out of the blue. Case in point: I was in Trader Joe’s the other day (which is itself unusual) and I looked up and saw some sort of chocolate-covered marshmallow cookie product on the shelf, and it reminded me of Mallomars…remember those? And that reminded me of my brother Eddie, childhood buddy and fellow Mallomar aficionado. Eddie has been gone for nearly thirty years, and yet, I had the fleeting impulse to buy these for us, or tell him about them. I imagined bringing one to my lips, beginning the experience with a tentative lick, and then biting through the chocolate and into the soft, slightly chewy marshmallow to the biscuit below, and Eddie was there with me, delighted.

I was part of a litter once, long ago. Eddie was the puppy just above me, and my sister Marl was three years younger, the playmate next in line. Both of those siblings are gone now. (There were six of us in total, but with an age range of over twenty years, we were never all in the house together.) Anyway, standing there in the aisle of Trader Joe’s looking up at those marshmallow cookies, I thought about how formative our childhood years with siblings are, how much our brothers and sisters teach us of how to view the world and interact with others, and it occurred to me that Eddie’s influence is still with me, in a truly visceral way. He was imaginative and mischievous, a tease, but never mean. He showed me how to pretend and be playful, how to toss a clod of earth into the street and make an explosion called a dirt bomb, how to ad-lib stories and invent inner lives for passers-by, how to draw pictures, and execute stealth missions, and savor certain treats with noisy lip-smacking relish, making them last so the hasty, greedy eater (usually me) would be jealous.

Once I stuck a wad of chewing gum on his head. Why did I do that? Stupid girl, underestimating the adhesiveness of gum. He had to have it shaved off, and he briefly sported a bald spot, but he forgave me. From Eddie, I learned to think a little before executing an impulse, and to try to understand intentions, and forgive, as he did, when no harm was meant. But I never learned to keep my emotions to myself or hide my tears, although he tried to teach me.

Eddie never met my daughter, but he sent her cards and notes and trinkets. He wanted to be a presence in her life, and although it wasn’t meant to be, he dwells forever in her mother’s heart, and there are many mementos of him here if she wants them. Above is a self-portrait he drew for her in red pen, probably while on dialysis. I found it in a file box yesterday. I thought I was done crying about Eddie, but apparently I’m not.

I’m sure Eddie felt nostalgic sometimes for our childhood days together. Above is a map he drew (again, probably while on dialysis) and mailed to me. It’s a diagram of what he referred to as our universe. These were the streets we roamed, the key destinations, each phrase laden with memories that I feast upon still. He sent this to me as a sort of birthday card, and what a special card it was! “Your first ten years were here,” he wrote.

I didn’t know then that my first ten years are here too, right here. And I wish I could tell Eddie how essential he was to those years and to the present, and how dear he is to me.

And yet sadness is not the legacy for which I choose to remember him. Because I was part of a playful litter with Eddie as the brother just above me, there’s a part of me that is still a child, and I tumble into it easily. I became a teacher in honor of him, but I retained my silliness, and maybe that’s one of the good things I still teach.

I’m learning so much lately about the gifts I received from the members of my original family, and sometimes the gifts shine so brightly, they override the sorrow of the tragedy and loss.

Yesterday I went walking early in the morning and saw the sunlight at play upon the hills. There are so many wonders that my brother never saw, but sometimes I look through his eyes, and new depths are revealed, new colors, new paths, and I find the way in.