For Mommy

People asked me why I took this on myself. To me, it was an intuitive decision. A given. No real thought went into it, no real premeditation... It is just a natural reflection of the woman I had become and of the community I belong to.

And yet.
There is so much more.

It is for Mommy. First and foremost, it is the very least I can offer now. A tribute, a gift- to the woman who birthed and raised me, the woman who gave life to my goals and dreams. Of course, there is no forgetting her. And yet. This is an active remembering. Three times a day, I summon her memory and her face appears before my eyes and becomes my absolute focus. Nothing else, no one else, just her. That which I couldn't bestow on her in life becomes my debt to her now that she is gone.

And then there are the days where all I want to do is stay in bed and hide in the comforting folds of my blankets. But the Kaddish won't recite itself. It is the push I need to get up and face the world. Get dressed. Comb my hair. It provides a structure and a stability to my days that might otherwise collapse under the weight of sadness and longing and missing her.

So I show up. Every morning, afternoon and evening. Sometimes my mood is better, sometimes worse. Sometimes the words hold meaning, sometimes they are rote. Always, they are my anchor.

Cognitive Dissonance

Despite having heard the Kaddish recited hundreds of times in my life, I never actually focused on the meaning of the text. I never took the time to connect the words to the circumstances they were tied to. In fact, I discovered that there is no obvious connection to grief, loss, or mourning. Instead, there is praise.
I find there is a cognitive dissonance of sorts inherent in this juxtaposition of exaltation and pain, one that I grapple with and struggle to reconcile every single day. God is great, He is in control, but He has also taken her away. Some days it's hard to mean the words I say, or even get them out of my mouth but I don't break. I get through it.

Saying Kaddish

Just a few weeks before my mother passed, I can recall looking at the women gathering in synagogue to recite the mourner's Kaddish. I wondered if I would stand with them, bearing the weight of that committment, if I were in their shoes. While the news came swiftly and without warning, one of the only things I knew with absolute certainty during that time was that I was going to be reciting it. And here I am, just over two months later, standing with them.

Lately, I feel encouraged to write and to express myself. I didn't know I had so much to say. About grief, loss, community, prayer and womanhood within those confines.. This space, then, will become a diary of this mourner's Kaddish.