My Aunt Hannah used to pack my lunch in a full-size brown grocery bag with an extra banana, “just in case.” Hannah wore house dresses, smoked like a chimney, and now that I’m older, I suspect she might have washed her prescriptions down with the occasional “nip.”

I don’t care. I’m not looking for a salacious reveal. Hannah through adult eyes is not what I’m here to remember. I don’t have a lot of memories of my childhood. I don’t think that means anything other than the memories I do have are gems. Full-color bursts of brief encounters and untied shoestrings.

We moved a lot when I was a kid. Moved home when my grandmother (Hannah’s sister) got sick. Moved from our life to a city I’d never known. The place where my mother was raised, to take care of things no one else could or wanted to handle. Taking care of others was my mom’s specialty.

I can recall pieces of New York, Bronxville specifically, if I’m quiet. Amid the newness, confusion, death, and hasty departure sits my Aunt Hannah. I’m not always sure why I ended up at her and my Uncle Jerry’s house, but there was at least one occasion when my mom was sick.

I can recall every detail of their home. From the TV trays to the street-facing windows, my time spent there is in my bones, and anytime I’m folding paper grocery bags from the store, I smile.

I’m sure I wasn’t with Hannah more than a dozen times, but I think of her often. She made me laugh. Made me feel bold in a try-on-that-lipstick way. To Little Me she was a giant branch of my ancestor tree, a woman not to be trifled with and a hugger capable of sorting out confusion if only for a weekend.

I’m not sure if my Aunt Hannah was a great person. If she was a great mom or sister, partner, or neighbor. Those are details for other people’s memories. She helped shape me and I look to her and my grandmother every time I’m asked to behave.

I light candles for these ladies and recognize them in the deepening wrinkles of my face. I celebrate my Aunt Hannah with my laughter, occasional bawdiness, and every time I eat an extra banana.

That’s all from the laundry room. Big Kiss.

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