How are you doing? I’m asked this question multiple times a day. I answer in the moment. “Today I’m okay,” or “Not bad right now.” I’m okay in those moments. I’m at work or minyan. I’m busy, and focused.
Then there are the other days. Days without errands to run, chores to do.
Although that’s not just it. Today I’m not okay. Today is the hard day.
I have lots to do. Preparing for Shabbat begins Thursday night. Soup is done. Challah is begun. Today it is baked. I made a trifle. A trifle is a layered dish, simple in the making, but involved in the task. There’s a thin sponge cake followed by a layer of fruit and one of custard. I was supposed to make this for an annual get together. I missed it sitting shiva. With the ingredients in the house, I thought it would make a nice Shabbat dessert. I tweaked it, replacing a custard layer with cannoli filling.
Cake, raspberries, cannoli filling, blueberries softly cooked with brown sugar, vanilla custard, confectioner’s sugar, and crushed hazelnuts. There’s whipped cream for the top, maybe more nuts.
So why is today a bad day? It isn’t the day. It’s the tears. There’s noting of today that brings them. Mom was not a great cook. She never would have made a trifle, or cannolis, or custard. Fresh fruit might be used, but never in a dish beyond fruit salad. But the tears are here. Over and over through the morning. I stand crying at the stove. I cry while zesting a lemon, while mixing egg yolks for the custard. They come unbidden, after days without.
That’s mourning. Days go up. Days slide down. It feels like an eternity, and it feels like yesterday. Day by day, week by week, month by month. Life slowly becomes the new normal, and, while I know there will be a general upward trajectory, days like today won’t end. A moment will occur. I’ll hear a sound, smell a scent, something will spark a memory. No matter the time passed, I will be back here.
Today is the hard day.
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