Necco Wafers

Necco Wafers were my father's favorite candy. As a boy, he worked in the Boston factory where they were made. I am not sure what kind of work he did but do know that he took home bags of the broken ones to eat at his leisure.

Growing up, whenever we passed by the factory he would point it out saying, "Oldest candy factory in the US," which impressed me each time I heard it. If he had some Necco Wafers in his pocket, which he often did, he would flip two out of the waxed paper packaging; one for him, one for me. The wafers, thin circles of pure confection, came in different flavors. You didn't know what you were going to get until it popped out of the circular packaging.

I happened to find a small package of Necco Wafers around the house during the early hours before my father's funeral. I slipped it into the pocket of my new linen pants before we made our way to the funeral parlor for our last goodbyes. I found father floating around the room, no longer in his body, hovering. I figured he might need something for his journey, so I slipped the package of Necco's into the small draw at the heart of the coffin made for such last gifts and mementos.

When grief or fear or unease is at its worse, I think of how Necco Wafers are made to savor one slice at a time. If you chew them or stuff the whole package into your mouth, you will loose the pleasure of feeling each one melt slowly on your tongue the flavor blossoming as the sugar melts. One slice, then the next slice, then the next slice. This, then this, then this, each moment a slice that melts easily before the next.