It’s been too long since I’ve written. A trip to Israel. Bathroom renovations in full swing. Normally you wouldn’t do a major renovation during this year, but it was arranged before Daddy died, just delaying the start. Amidst everything else, amidst minyan schedules and balancing time, Kaddish, and children, we have 3/4 of our bathrooms under construction. It had to happen, but seems odd. I want to talk to Daddy about our plans, to get his opinions. He always had great ideas. I want to hear them, even if he won’t agree with some of our plans. I know there’s something he wouldn’t like. Likely I wouldn’t change it. It may even be an arguement about our choices. But I want to hear anyway. I find myself saying, “Daddy would have liked this;” or “I think Daddy might have thought this was nutty.” I tell him, but he doesn’t answer.
Amazingly sometimes life seems normal. I forget that he’s gone. I go about my day as if he’s still there. I’ll call him later. We’ll talk, maybe for hours, maybe he’ll say he’s tired. Then I remember he’s gone. I won’t call him. I can’t speak with him. “Wow,” I think, “that happened. For just a little while I forgot. Life seemed normal.” And then it feels so very not normal. Pricisely because it did.
There are even moments when we get to Kaddish, even though that’s precisely why I’m in synagogue, I forget to say it. Kaddish begins. I hear a few words, and suddenly I realize that I’m quiet when I should be reciting these words. And I jump in, quickly catching up. “Yitgadal v’yitgadash she’mei rabah...” How could I have forgotten?! I’m only 2 1/2 months in. There’s so long to go. Maybe, for just that very moment, my life returned to pre-November when t’fillot was simply prayer. And maybe my mind wandered, thinking of happier moments.
Time seems to flow forward and back upon itself, changing speed and direction.
