Thursday, September 20, 2018

I lost it

My synagogue is almost 42 miles north of where I live. I make the trip because I love the Rabbi, the services and the many friends I have there.

I was able to sit through Yom Kippur morning services. And even though I had invitations from some friends to spend the 'break' between the morning and afternoon service at their homes, I declined and opted to drive back home. I didn't think I could handle the Yiskor service. Yiskor, in Hebrew, means "Remember" and is the first word in the Yiskor prayer. I had a pretty good idea of how I would react throughout that part of the service.

When I came home I remembered that services were being streamed from the Central Synagogue in New York City, not only on Facebook and their own website, but they were being televised on the JBS TV channel. I tuned in at the middle of the Yiskor service and listened through to the end of Neilah.

Thousands of people were streaming the service and making comments in real time on the Facebook page. During the Kaddish, I felt as if I was joining a world-wide minyon and recited the Kaddish in my own home, the tears streaming down my face. As I watched, Central Synagogue invited those watching to type in the names of those we were saying Kaddish for and so I did, through my tears.

But sometime during the Neilah service I totally lost it. The tears became rivers, the crying became  loud, guttural screams, the words flying out of my mouth were not pretty. And I scared the dogs.

Herc, Abbott's big lab, came running over, put his paws on my knees and began to kiss me everywhere he could find a spot to lick. He buried his head in my chest and kept looking into my eyes as if to say, "It's going to be okay." My own two pups, Snuggles and Sterling did the same thing, each trying to comfort me in the only way they knew how, jumping onto the sofa and then on to my lap.

It took a while for me to calm down and reflect on what had just happened. Since my beloved Warren passed away, there hasn't been a single day when I haven't shed tears, sometimes a lot, sometimes not so much. I think the solemnity of the day brought back memories of the last Yom Kippur service we attended together. I remember how much I prayed then that he would be written in the Book of Life. It was not to be. I think the memory of that prayer that would not be granted, triggered those horrific tears and gut-wrenching pain.

In retrospect, the episode feels like a cleansing. It was something that needed to happen. Today, I feel a bit stronger so maybe that was the point.......... me getting stronger.

Copyright © 2018. Reisa Sterling Miller. All Rights Reserved.






Sunday, September 2, 2018

The First Visit

Yup, it's still there, the anguish. I've been able to push it way down to the bottom of my heart but every once in a while it bubbles up and then it explodes like a volcano, raining tears and guttural crying like a wounded animal.

It happened today. I went to the cemetery for my first visit since the unveiling. I brought special stones to place on the gravestone and right after I did that, I lost it. In doing so I placed my head on the stone and just let the grief flow, like a rushing, overflowing river. It took a few minutes for me to regain my breath and some semblance of composure. I knew this visit was going to be very difficult and it was. While holding onto the stone, I talked to Warren - about the boys, my daily life, the emptiness I still feel, and some funny memories. The conversation seemed natural and I could hear his responses in my head. I imagine subsequent visits may get easier.

Before I left I placed stones on a few graves of friends who have gone before. Then I came back to my Beloved, whispered "I love you" and then sat in the car for a few minutes just staring at the stone. The line carved at the bottom, "We Shared a Lifetime of Love and Laughter," jumped out at me as if that's what he wanted me to remember from this visit. And so I will.

Copyright © 2018. Reisa Sterling Miller. All Rights Reserved.