So why am I thinking of Mom today? Perhaps because I too am a digital compulsive. (Yesterday I painted -- a lotus flower, inspired by a photo taken on an outing with lovely granddaughter Aisley at one of our favorite Mr. Desert Island haunts, the Asticou Azalea gardens). On days that I paint or draw or cook or write, especially in the company of a friend (cheers to Lizzie my studio companion) I am happy.
Or maybe it's because I am going to an unveiling today, that particular Jewish custom of marking the "end" of a year of mourning, as if one could ever stop mourning the sudden totally unexpected inexplicable death of a beautiful young woman, doing good in the world, helping rescue exploited African girls, involved in redeeming American politics, intensely loved by family, friends, employers, and community. At her memorial service last year, after remembrances so moving I felt the loss in my gut as if I'd lost my best friend, the curly headed blond cantor, who looks remarkably like the picture of this woman these thousand people assembled in a synagogue were missing, sang Dylan's song, "Forever Young." It shattered us. In a good way. It is ok to be able to break open, maybe even necessary. We are different from the stone that will be unveiled today.
So here's to you, Mom, still here and smiling through your pain, productive every day, and to the family of the girl who's been gone a year. This brilliant, warm, generous rabbi, Talia's father, said it all last year: "How do we cope? With gratitude to have had this shining being in our lives for as long as we had her."
I'm grateful too, for mom, the rabbi and his wife, their daughter, the people in my life whom I love, and my hands.
