Lillian

Last week my family bade farewell to my Aunt Lillian Corey Nelson. 

She was 92, tired, at peace and ready to go. 

But still, it felt, and feels, so final, as she was the last of the Corey siblings to go. 

Marion (aka Babe aka Uffie), Dad (aka Joseph M Corey Jr), Lillian and Gloria 

As so many American immigrant stories do, theirs goes back to the turn of the 20th century, when my four grandparents immigrated to America, two from Ireland (see here for detes) and two from Lebanon.  My Dad's mother, our Sittoo,  came over with her immediate family, and my Dad's father, our Jidoo, with a couple of his brothers.

Ellie shared this family history with me last week - written in Dad's handwriting.  I love staring at it, re-reading it, imagining all the  decisions and heartache and bravery and excitement all these transitions entailed.

My aunt Lill led a rich and interesting life, as my sister Ellie chronicled so beautifully in Lill's obituary.  She had a career,  albeit constrained by the limitations of her era.  She graduated from Merrill Business College in 1946 and spent two years in the early fifties in Japan, serving as an administrative assistant to the Army Colonel of the 8th Army Headquarters in Zama, Japan. She kept loads of pictures from these two years, which were wonderful to pore through.

Lill married our Uncle Rod, a widower with three grown children, later in life.  They spent 37 happy years together before he passed away in 2004, and they were regulars at our house in Norwalk growing up.

Lill was funny and direct and smart and warm.  She let her opinion, and her love for us, be known.

We had a lovely sendoff, reuniting with cousins  we haven't seen in years. 

It wasn't sad, but it was poignant.  And funny and reverent and absolutely perfect.  

When we were going through Lill's condo each of us tried to find something meaningful to take home and remember Lill by.  I found, wrapped up in old newspapers in boxes in her basement, a gorgeous set of delicate tea and demitasse cups and saucers, some of which came from her time in Japan.  I come home for lunch every day and make myself an espresso or a latte after lunch.  

Now I get to enjoy my afternoon treat with these.

When I opened one of her kitchen drawers I found this nondescript folder, which turned out to be her recipe box, of a sort.  

 It held a ton of recipes, most written in my dad's hand, organized by category within folded pieces of paper. 

I am particularly excited to dig into this group, which contained no fewer than six variations of kibbie and tabouli.  But that's for another day.  

Today we're going to talk about sausage bread.

In her obituary, and in every set of remarks at her service, someone mentioned Aunt Lill's legendary sausage bread.   Lill was hugely proud of her Lebanese heritage but at our Lebanese feasts I think she was more of an appreciator than a chef.  But sausage bread?  That was Lill's specialty.  

So yesterday, in Lill's honor, I made some.  The response was nearly ecstatic.  Dylan, 'This is really good. Can I have seconds?"  Noah, "Oh My God this is amazing.  You have to make it all the time." 

 I will.

We will miss you greatly, Auntie Lill.  But we will think of you often, especially when wolfing down your sausage bread.  Godspeed.  I love you.