Reflections

It's been a long week. But it passed by quickly all the same. 

A repeated theme throughout many conversations during shiva was how my mother was desperate to return to Israel. Claiming not to be phased by the stage of the cancer, she turned out being too weak where matter was controlled over mind. 

A mother, waiting to be with her daughter and the daughter waiting for her mom to live up to a final dream. 

Another theme was her emunah (belief) and love of us. We were reminded how she'd say "Life isn't fair" and other remarks so true to her character - - to accept life as it comes. 

As we walked up to the front door of 1219 Pinecrest circle, on Wednesday, I was sad. 

Losing two parents feels empty. Like taking a vaccum and sucking every particle. 

What made me feel like a knob being twisted in my gut was the front door being opened by a familiar and kind community member. It wasn't my mother, who with what I remember as a little girl, had thick, black hair, wearing her favorite light denim dress as she'd smile and say "SHA-lom," with a big hug and kiss. My father would generally approach right behind her.

The void is profound. 

And yet, we found ways in which the week was really beautiful, having us sisters and brother in-laws, and most of the grandchildren together. 

We helped one another, laughed, hugged, cried lightly in waves, discovered family artifacts, relived memories, discussed deep feelings, desires and wishes. We were fair, cordial and loving. Sympathetic, understanding, supportive and patient. 

We walked along the stairs of the house, to shul, looking at the gardens and trees, expressing how much we will miss the community that we grew up in. 

The stairs we'd take mattresses and sheets with, to sled down and our parents didn't care. 

The yard where we'd sit on Shabbat afternoons and run around. 

Seeing the fresh snow, visible from the bedroom windows, hanging from large pine trees. 

Leaves that we'd rake for hours and bring to the the curb for collection. 

Papers that we used to create artwork as children, since we grew up with little means and our parents worked extraordinary hard to achieve the American Dream, granting us an education, love of Israel, appreciation for the United States of America and respect to others. 

They left us a trunk of relics of the past. Newspapers of the Moon Landing, the 6 day War, tour guide pamphlets of places they went together and over 100+ airmail letters delivered from Haifa to New York from the early 70s.

I will miss these walls. 
The pitter patter of little feet on wood floors. 
A driveway so long it was hard to shovel. 
Where arms were always open wide.  
Bikerides along stunning paths. 
And fresh soup was always made.

As we walked around the block, to signify the transition of shiva to normal life and lifting the soul, the four of us together, braved the cold. At a point parallel to the house, I looked up and noticed autumn leaves swaying in the wind. I point it out to my sisters. "It's beautiful" and they replied, "it's as though ima is lightly crying from the sky." Two and a half years prior that same walk was done with four daughters and a mother. Rapid rain fell and we used a single umbrella for shelter. Today, just as a mother gently sways her child, we felt comforted. We will continue to look for your presence within us. 

We fly back tonight to our new home in Israel and while it's an amazing feeling to return to the-'home*, there's another I will always, as I have, continue to carry deep within my heart. 

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