Living in the Difference

When my mom died the Jewish holidays changed. Jewish life was at our center and the holidays encased us in this sense of peace and safety that penetrated my senses each year. My mom engaged in Jewish life fully, and was centered by its nuances.

When she died I have described it with the following metaphor: When you go hiking and you jump from one cliff to the other, there is this moment in time when you are between both cliffs. The earth is far below and there is no guarantee you will make it to the other side. You hover over the vastness.

Losing my mom at 16 is that place between the cliffs.

I was pushed off the ledge. Pushed with the force that took my breath away, made my head spin and my heart stop. And there I hovered. I imagined on the other side would be a life that would save me from pain and loss.

On the other side would be marriage. Then, I thought, I will get my Jewish holidays back. I will create my own traditions in the image of my mothers joy and Jewish life in my home will be like it used to be.

It didn't happen.

Ah, I thought, when I land on the other side and I am caught by the arms of motherhood, then...then I will be able to recreate the holidays for my children, and in their eyes I will see my mothers spirit on the chaggim.

It didn't happen.

Ok, I get it now, I was married to the wrong man. I married the right man. So now...now, with the right husband and the kids I will hand carve the holiday and my mom will somehow usher in the palpable sense of centerdness that she created each year for me.

It didn't happen.

Here we are again at the holidays. I have the people: A loving and committed husband, who is a wonderful father and step-father. I have extraordinary children, and even a very loving dog.

I have spent countless years trying to recreate feelings, not so I could be present in the essence of the chaggim, but so that I could try to not feel the pain of my loss. I have been like the small child, who when told to hide in a game of hide and seek, stays visible to all, but covers her eyes and "hides" in the middle of the room. That is what I have been doing.

And grief finds me each time.

Grabs me.

Shakes me.

Grief reminds me that life IS different. I have to live in the difference, lean into it, and I have been running from it all the while.

When I create the details of the chaggim for my family, if I can stop trying to "make it like it was" maybe I can accept it as it is.

So I bought the chicken, the apples, the honey and I will bake the challah. I will set the table with her china and her silver.

I will live in the difference and maybe in that place of bittersweet acceptance, she will seep in through the open place in my heart that has never been filled...and there she will stay, so I can hold on when I need to and let go when I must.

Shana Tova