For all the highs, there are the lows.
For all the lows, there are the highs.
What is in-between is the "stuff" that makes us who we are.
I was a pallbearer on Friday. I have never done that before. I was honored (and scared) to help carry the casket of a man I knew for most of my life to his final resting place. I grew up with his twin daughters and his son, and it was a freeing feeling to be able to do something for him as a way to almost repay for the years of memories his family gave me. A safe place to play. A father figure I could admire. A family unit that remained intact until the end.
On Saturday, I watched my niece participate in one of the biggest blessings of the Catholic church. She was bursting with pride at her accomplishment, and it was a joy to see her happiness. I am a firm believer that religion is essential to children as it gives them something to believe in, aside from their family. The traditions and prayers of the Catholic church were soothing and comforting and apart from Miranda in a LOUD whisper asking me why there was a guy on a cross hanging on the wall, it was a lovely day. There are so similarities in Catholicism and Judaism, and I think Miranda and her cousins will grow up very well rounded having experienced both. We support them, and they support us. It's really amazing.
Yesterday was a shiva call, and it was so cathartic to sit around and tell stories and share anecdotes about the deceased. It does not help that he passed before anyone was ready. It does not help that my friends will never again hear their dad's voice, but the sense of community and the prayers sung in unison do give comfort that is unlike any other.
And then just when I thought the weekend was about to come to a close, I met a grieving mom and my heart burst wide open again. We went outside, amongst the kids playing frisbee in the yard and the clouds rolling in, and talking about what it is like to lose a child. What it is like to hold a baby in your arms that never cried. What it is like to want to shout to the world that you have two children, even if there is only one in the stroller. The agony and despair and love that was seeping out of this mother who had a due date of May 15th (and mine was May 11th). You never forget those dates as that is all you have. There are no dates of first teeth and first steps and first days of school. Just dates that were created before you knew that your world could shatter.
I stood before this mom as proof, though, that life goes on. I do not know how, but it does. She will smile again. She will laugh again. She will heal and take the memory of her baby with her as she grows into a different person than she ever thought she could be.
In spite of all the loss and tears of the weekend, I felt good when the sun peeked through my blinds and woke me up this morning. In reality, it was the sun as well as a perfectly timed pounce by one of my cats that woke me.
Time marches on. We all move on. Death is something I see far too much of in my opinion, so I try to see the joy in the life that is all around me. The giggle of my daughter which can make my heart soar. The pride of watching my family and friends succeed and do great things. The beauty in a sunset. The excitement of new connections and new friends.
The way I look at it, I have lived half of my life, and I have about half left to live. I do not want to waste a moment!
