My first morning in Warsaw, I woke up to the news that a friend and colleague passed away suddenly. He was only 40, recently tenured and promoted, and a highly regarded scholar. But I knew him as a warm and friendly person. When he joined us for our Thanksgiving potluck, he brought sałata, the iconic Polish salad made of fine cubes of egg, potato, carrot, and peas in a mayonnaise sauce. The taste of Poland for me. Last December, we were both in Kraków and we met for lunch at Chimera, a restaurant I first frequented when it was an upstart business in the early 1990s.

Since I was planning to visit my grandmother’s grave at Powązki Cemetery, I also lit a candle lantern for Łukasz.

Cleaning my ancestor’s grave is an act of care and remembrance. I feel like I’m with them for a short time. As I wiped the grime off the granite marker, I was reminded of the Christian practice of washing other people’s feet. I’m not enough of a Christian myself to know the full meaning of the practice, but it feels like a kind of humbling of oneself and honoring another. I find comfort in maintaining my connection with the people who are no longer here, but with whom my relationship lives on through simple acts of remembrance and care.