Holding

She worries that now that they are gone, the world will crumble. Everything falling apart. Bit by bit. One by one. Each child tumbling into the abyss. What she doesn't realize is that this is a necessity. It has to happen. What has come before no longer holds. A new order is being created.  It is time to learn the art of selfishness. Or at least a variation on it. An old voice remembers. She swoons. Oh, my darling! Who will take care of you? They taught us only one thing and we learned it well. Only one focus. One intention. Don't look at the edges of your life. There is only one life. But now they are gone. We are left with rags. Not riches. The empty spaces point to a center. Can it be undone? Rebuilt? We approach as children. Will we always be children? Will this always seem like someone else's life? Can we be undone? Unfinished? Lurching into spaces that hold our names.  Calling us to return. To serve the center with the obvious holes once more? What did they take with them? What did they leave?

It will never be done. We will always be children. Waiting. Hoping.   Each one. All. Trying to form a new whole. Unable to reach across to meet the other.  Arms flailing. Hold me. Hold me. Will you take care of me? Will I take care of you?

We know. We nod. We hold. And then we hope that this is the first step, not the last.

I miss you more

I could never have imagined. Your smile. Your eyes. The sound of your breathing. The way you hummed as you pushed your walker. The bones in your shoulders. You left so quickly. So well intentioned. We were left behind. The wall got higher and thicker. But you managed to slip out and visit. I am grateful that the urge to travel hasn't left you.  You were eating. A favorite pastime. Sprawled like an  odalisque. Where is the meaning? Am I dreaming about you or am I dreaming about me? I no longer worry about you. Instead of reassuring me, it leaves a vast and empty space.I peer in and see nothing. I don't know how to move without you. My eyes reflect your blue.  I was devoted. I was devout.  A little girl circles. She whispers to me. I can see you. I can see you. It gives me hope that soon I will see myself. Guided by the blue of sea and sky. And a little girl whispering.

Then the heavens parted

An ancient blue eye with a very small pupil stares at me. Unknowing yet unwavering. It looks. It penetrates. But it cannot see. It is only for my benefit that it appears. It is to remind me of what I need to see. To keep seeing. To never stop seeing. It makes me so angry. My sinuses could explode. Why do I need to see so much? And it doesn't end there. Seeing leads to feeling which leads to expression which leads back to feeling. Over and over. The pupil doesn't change size. It has lost interest. Moved on. The void is fixed. The blue watery. The connection is gone.

In which she appears unceremoniously and tells me to get on with my life

She was nothing if not practical. So, it should come as no surprise that in her one dramatic appearance since her death, the message was short and to the point. We had our life together, get over it and move on. Our life was not your life and it isn't now.  What were you thinking? What are you thinking? Got it. Yes. It makes me sick. I break teeth. Gnashing. Snarling. Oy vey- whose woods are these? Clearly not mine. I have been trespassing for 58 years and now they tell me? Isn't possession 9/10ths of the law?  Shall I go or shall I stay? I am unhinged. There is nothing to hold on to. I mistook the center that did not hold for the one that did. Will I ever learn? And then the odd thought that as the last one to appear, maybe I was an accident. And if so, then the feelings are even more warranted than before. But no, there is enough to understand without adding another layer of complexity. Just when I thought the coast was clear. Just when I started to step out and up. I yearn for Jewish things. The fluffy matzo ball floating in over salted soup. All the old ones making jokes barely making it across the floor with their walkers. The corny toast of L'Chaim that came forth every Friday night with the cheap red wine. Something and someone to hold onto. Instead, I live in what some consider paradise. Fruit trees blossoming. Mountains as a backdrop. Quiet and peaceful dark descending. But it is the Jews I yearn for. The noisy nosey ones of my life. The curious inquiring minds. The center that held itself together with glue and spit. Centuries. Continents. Adrift.

Now there is nothing

The door swings closed. We walk empty corridors and look at each other knowing and not knowing. It is only us now. No one to care for. In the last breath, he exhaled centuries. Continents. Undying love. Now we are four. Together, yet alone. What happens now? I wait for a sign. It is not the pain of parting beauty I feel now, but a severed head. It is my own.  Truly mine. And I don't know what to do with it. The body is compelling but the head is in agony. It rolls on the floor and moves between tears and silence.  What now? In the end, he didn't know me. And the only thing that mattered was kindness. Kindness came easy to me. Kindness for him. How do I learn to let that kindness reconnect the head to the body. How do I  inhale again and restore the continents? The love? The corridor is completely barren now. Everyone has retreated behind a closed door. We trade places. Stepping up. Stepping down.  In the end, it is always the same. There is no why. There is no meaning. There is only time.

And now it comes to a close

One year. Kaddish closes it doors.  Tonight we carry on your tradition. You were the keeper of candles. Of lighting the past. I will take his hand and together we will remember you. He says he remembers you well. But all the rest is slipping away. Words and thoughts betray him. You were his expression. So he hums and smiles in a way he must have done as a child. He has lost day and night. But he keeps going and we keep him protected, remembering how helpless we were last year. Just watching. Just waiting. Just hoping. Only a few things left in the closet but your scent clings to them. Still reminding. Still.

Transverse navigation

More than ever, I am drawn to the light. Like a moth, yet no longer seeking my own destruction. I am looking for a way to navigate- looking towards the stars for my own way forward. Needing the window open at all times. Just in case the path clears and it is time. Because it is the life I have, the way has never been straightforward.  Until now. A beacon guides me. Hovers over me. Opening, not closing.

What was given

On this last day of the last year you lived, it is time to let go. To let go of your finger tips. So worn and soft. The aroma of you which still intoxicates. Lingering just barely. To eviscerate in order to move forward.   Yet everything reminds me of you. The air is crisp, the way you liked it. It would have made you rosy and the light would have reflected in your eyes.  There is no questioning. It is undying love.Your orphans still mourn you. It will always be so. The piece we lost was small but it connected the whole.  Living as a memory isn't easy, but you made it seem so. We breathed you in and you let us take pieces of you- the ones we needed most. I took the cream. The solid good that always remained. I've tried to integrate you into myself. I realize I don't need to wear pearls to do this. But on this last day, I will go collect the final necklace that links us and I will wear it. I will warm the pearls and they will come alive. One by one.  It is a long necklace and it might take a few hours to revive them all. But at the end,  the memory will be imparted and then it will be time. I will walk down to the beach. Alone. What I wanted most was to dream. But that was not given.