Raspberries & Rosemary for Remembrance

Photo by Odiseo Castrejon on Unsplash

On Sunday I found myself at a Farmer’s Market where I purchased some raspberries, my favourite berries by a long shot.

They are my faves because they have the magical ability to transport me back to a perfect summer day in my childhood. I was with my cousin, Shelley, who was more like my sister as we were only four months apart in age. We were having a sleepover at my house which we did a lot back in the day. People often confused us for sisters which we loved and most of the time we did not bother to correct them. That morning we awoke very early as we usually did, well before the adults. We loved this time of the morning because we could do what we wanted without adult interference.

We hopped on our bikes and rode over to our other Auntie’s backyard to pick her raspberry bush clean. We had decided to make homemade jam for breakfast. We were not at all deterred by the fact that we had no idea how to make jam nor did we have a recipe. We returned to my house and proceeded to use almost every dish and utensil in the kitchen making our “jam.” We were thrilled. My parents did not share our enthusiasm when they awoke to the mayhem in the kitchen. We didn’t care as we were very proud of our creation.

This year raspberries have taken on a much deeper meaning for me as it was exactly one year ago (to the day) when my beloved cousin died very unexpectedly.

I still find it hard to fathom that she is no longer with us. This harsh reality still catches my breath a year later. It is destabilizing to lose such a central childhood figure, one who knew my stories and shared my childhood history. We lived parallel lives in so many ways even if we lived far apart as adults.

Over the years when I would see perfectly ripe raspberries, I often time-travelled back to that perfect childhood morning.

This year, without her physical form with us anymore there is an emptiness and sadness that accompanies the memory. With the anniversary of her death upon us, my gut reaction at the Farmer’s Market was to walk on by these stunning raspberries. Too painful. Too sad. And yet, something in my heart would not allow me to do that. So I bought them.

I brought them back to my mom’s house and ate them slowly, taking my time to remember that morning almost fifty years ago. Taking my time to remember her and her too short life. I am so glad I bought them. It is important to remember our loved ones even if it hurts to do so.

This is where ritual meets me - in the painful times.

As I remembered and thought about Shelley, I knew that I had to find a way to mark this first year without her. To honour her. To keep her with me. To keep our connection alive and well within my heart.

I gathered a few items to engage in a ritual to remember. I have a picture of the two of us so young and joyful at my birthday party or maybe it was hers. I don’t remember as we are no more than two or three years old. Doesn’t matter now. I found the angel charm that we both had as I had given her a matching one when she was going through a tough time a few years back. We shared some similar struggles as adults. The charm has an angel on one side and the back says, “always with you.” During that tough season, we both kept them in our pockets to remember that important truth.

I also created a bouquet that included our shared grandmother’s favourite flower: yellow roses and added sprigs of Rosemary.

Down through history, Rosemary has been connected to death and remembrance. Mourners would toss bouquets of the herb on top of coffins during burial rites. And in Shakespeare’s Hamlet, Ophelia named plants that were known for their capacity to ease pain. “There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance; pray, love, remember.” 

And so today, on the anniversary of Shelley’s passing I have set up an altar with her photo, our charm, a candle, the flowers, and of course, sprigs of Rosemary. That’s for remembrance. I will make a Rosemary tea (see recipe below) and I will sit, sip, and remember.

Using the herb this way connects me to the universal experience of grief that is felt by all who are left behind when a beloved passes. Down through the ages, this herb has supported times such as this. It reminds me that I am not alone, we are not alone. Grief is a human experience that expresses how deeply we love, and how profoundly our people impacted our lives for the better simply by their presence.

I am glad I did not walk by the raspberries. It soothes my heart to keep her memory alive through this simple ritual. It feels right to not let this day simply pass by. We love her too much for that.

Rest peacefully, Shell Belle.