Weeks or months, they said. But here we are again. Somehow I’m not prepared to begin this cycle again. I was more mentally prepared when my father died. Mom had pancreatic cancer. What was I expecting? But clearly I was expecting, because I’m not prepared to begin again.
With any death there are moments that are overwhelming. The first morning Amidah after the funeral when I no longer added Mom’s name to the list of the sick in my personal prayers. Walking into my shul for Shacharit the morning after retuning home. I stopped in the parking lot and simply cried. I’m just not ready to do this again. There will be so many more moments. I have Hamilton tickets. This week is my daughter’s senior play. Two children celebrate graduations this year. There’s a wedding in the spring. What else will I sit out waiting for my new normal to assert itself, the new normal in which I can’t call Mom to tell her about my day, my work, or the antics the kids got up to.
I cry at Kaddish. Every. Time. It’s just a few days, but it shows no signs of abating. I was stoic for Daddy. But why? Why don’t we cry? Why don’t we show our pain, our sorrow to our communities? Shiva and Kaddish are for the mourner, but they are also for the community to rally, to be its best self, to show support, for those are the moments that really matter.
So I travel with tissues, but each day I use one less. And soon, I know, ready or now, this cycle will be my new normal.
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