A few months after my First Communion, Aunt Rosa died. We had celebrated so beautifully: Aunt Rosa in a dark blue dress with a white lace collar, my mother elegant in a green silk suit, my father in a dark suit, and me in my white communion dress! I was so excited about the church, the ceremony, and the presents that I didn't open the small package with the cream-colored bow until days later. It was a gift from Aunt Rosa, who was already seriously ill at the time: an amber necklace! I wasn't particularly enthusiastic about this piece of jewelry, but many years later, my mother told me the story of that amber necklace. Our Aunt Rosa wasn't related to us at all; she was my mother's best friend. The war had bonded them together under the most difficult circumstances, and their friendship was to last a lifetime. Aunt Rosa, unmarried, was a family member and a surrogate grandparent to us; we traveled, celebrated Christmas, and many festivals together. That amber necklace was a precious gift from Aunt Rosa's fiancé, who hadn't returned home from the war. She only took it out of the old jewelry box on special occasions. An infinitely precious keepsake that my mother would likely inherit. My mother explained to me much later why I received it for my First Communion: This necklace was connected to love, suffering, and a very special friendship. And Aunt Rosa wanted such a friendship for me, too. First Communion was the last celebration we were able to celebrate together with her.
