Let There Be Remembrance

By Dorina Lazo Gilmore-Young

I peel the deep purple skin from the eggplant, then slice it lengthwise as thin as I can get it. I shake sea salt over the slices like stardust over the night sky. I let the eggplant rest while I prep the breadcrumb mixture and beat the eggs. 

The salt pulls the bitterness from the eggplant. This is an extra step my grandma Sara taught me.

Eggplant parmigiana was one of her specialties. Her family hailed from Southern Italy. Grandma’s gone on to heaven now, but her spirit is very much alive in me – especially when I am in the kitchen. I can see her standing at the stove mixing ruby red marinara sauce with her wooden spoon. Even from her front porch, you could smell that rich aroma of garlic, basil, oregano, and tomatoes swirling together.

I give the eggplant slices a quick rinse and then pat them dry with a towel. My grill pan begins to hiss as I pour the olive oil over it. Gently, I dip each slice of eggplant in the egg wash and then press each side into the breadcrumb and herb mix. The eggplant dances on the grill. When they are golden brown, I remove and add them to the glass dish with marinara sauce already spooned into the bottom. 

Today I’m preparing for a special party we host each year at our home. We gather with friends and family around the table for good food and remembrance. September 9 is the day my beloved husband soared to Heaven eight years ago. We call this his Heaveniversary party - a time for reconnecting with old friends, sharing stories, and continuing his legacy.

This year I need the cooking therapy as much as I need the gathering. This time of year always feels particularly heavy. The memories of his final week of life creep in. I remember the hard decision I made to invite hospice into our home. I remember praying for God to take my beloved so he would no longer suffer as the cancer coursed through his body.

I can feel the ache deep in my bones like it was yesterday. And while I no longer sit in intense grief in my day-to-day life, she slips in each September like a stray cat hankering for food. It’s hard to shake the triggers and trauma that are still with me.

As I layer the breaded eggplant with marinara sauce and sprinkle the mozzarella cheese, something small shifts in me. Creating in the kitchen brings light and purpose to my soul. The cadence of chopping vegetables and the mixing together of spices makes me feel present and alive - moving forward instead of stuck on my grief.

I remember how my husband Ericlee loved my cooking. He told me when we started dating that he always dreamed of marrying a gourmet cook. I smiled and told him to leave the cooking up to me. He was on the dishes. In that way and others, we were always a team. 

Eggplant parmigiana was one of his favorite dishes too. 

My oldest daughter, who has recently become a vegetarian, wanders into the kitchen, her dark eyes shining. “Mmmm… eggplant parmigiana,” she murmurs. This is one of her favorite dishes too. She’s her daddy’s girl. And I’m my grandma’s girl. We are layers of generations and tastes, passions and preferences coming together.

Creativity is one of the ways my daughters and I have learned to navigate our grief. My two younger daughters started writing a song several weeks ago to share at the Heaveniversary party. Music has been an outlet for them since they were young.

My youngest was two years old when her daddy soared to Heaven. I know she didn’t understand everything that was going on, but she would sing her way through her grief. She would make up long narrative songs about her daddy in heaven and how his tumor was gone. Nights were traumatic for her, but music always helped her steady her heart to slip into sleep. It still does.

My middle daughter, who was five when her dad died and is now 13, loves writing lyrics. This is one of the ways she memorializes him. She’s on the worship team at her school. She scribbles out phrases and pounds out chords, teaching her sister the song.

Truth be told, these two don’t always get along, but there’s a sweetness that emerges when they are creating together. 

The doorbell rings and waves of our people arrive. Friends from my husband’s high school and college days are in the mix along with students who were mentored and coached by my husband. Friends who prayed with us through the gravity of a cancer diagnosis and then stood by the graveside are there. 

My husband Shawn, who was one of Ericlee’s best friends, prays over the group. We’ve been married six years now. His words are a balm, a sign of sweet redemption linking our past to this new present.

I’m always filled with a deep gratitude when I gather my people close for this event. God used and uses these friends to buoy our spirits through the darkest days. We tell stories about Ericlee around the living room. My daughters sing. We watch a slideshow. We laugh, and tears leak out too.

This is how we remember my love eight years later. This is how we keep him alive in our hearts.

Dorina Lazo Gilmore-Young

Dorina Lazo Gilmore-Young is a blogger, speaker, podcaster, and the award-winning author of numerous books and Bible studies, and self-proclaimed glory chaser. Look for her new books, Chasing God's Glory and Breathing Through Grief, coming in 2023. She serves as a storyteller for (in)courage by Dayspring and Proverbs 31 Ministries. She and her husband, Shawn, are raising three strong daughters in Central California. Connect with her at www.DorinaGilmore.com