Today is the Jewish yahrzeit, first anniversary of my mother’s passing. Only dad and I were there today, my husband being sick at home, the rest of the family elsewhere today. To be fair, it was fine to just be there together because the collective family had already gathered on the calendar anniversary of her passing last month, in Father’s Day, with much more souls than I anticipated at any rate. What’s interesting today vs last month is the fact that today the headstone was covered, something we were told would happen last month when we all gathered for the official unveiling but apparently the cemetery follows the Jewish anniversary rather than calendar.
I felt fine, anxious to get it over with even today. We had chores to do, and I wanted to be home with Ken. And then a few hours later, when I was wandering through my dad’s (it’s still half my parents’, half my dad’s when I refer to it) house, it hit me how desperately I still need my mother. Yahrzeits are supposed to be days to light the candle in remembrance of the departed ones and all I remember today is the heartache of not hearing her voice, not playing with her hair, not telling her about the silly thing my dad told me earlier. The light does not burn just one day and night, the light is ever burning.
Jewish Books Are Awesome 