Saturday, October 1, 2016
I love honesty, and I try to be as honest as possible in my life. This means in all of my relationships. My relationship with G-D, with people, and with myself. For most of my life this has done me alright. I am not a good pretender and there are many times we need to act certain ways and we don't always feel like it. Some people have no problem doing that, I do. You can usually see it on my face and to me that is a little invasive. I don't even write lol unless I have actually laughed out loud. I'm more a smile in my head type but there is no abbreviation for that yet. (So I'm sure you can imagine how the election is bothering me.) But for the most part I think honesty is a good thing. Perhaps it is most challenging to be honest with ourselves. To recognize uncomfortable thoughts, emotions, and even actions. I try hard to be thankful for all that I have and to stay in a positive frame of mind, and often that works. But sometimes something hits and it hits hard. Usually it's a little thing that reminds me of the way things were and it catches me off guard. The big things I try to prepare for, but the little things are things we notice in everyday life that most people take for granted, and they just sneak up on us. Then once I am longing for what we once were, it opens the door to all we have lost. Often I admonish myself and remind myself of what we still have, but let's be honest. We have lost plenty. It has been three years since I heard my husband's voice, him sing, talk, daven, whisper. It's been two years since we have shared a room, since a nurse (stranger) is in our home, at his side, hopefully 24/7. It's been four years since we realized something is wrong and since I have taken a deep breath. It's been three since we could just go somewhere together without endless preparation. It's been a long time since I have seen Yitzi play with the kids like he used to. The youngest does not even remember what a good father he was. He may be lucky, he doesn't feel the loss as much. I miss the way he laughed, and smelled, and sounded, and how his leg would move when he was concentrating, and his eyebrows would raise when he liked the food, and how he loved me and the kids. I miss how he looked like a prince in his hat and long jacket, how standing next to him made me feel like a princess. I miss yelling at him. I miss hearing him snore. I miss dreaming of what we will do when the kids move out. I miss our little Chabad house but not nearly as much as our community and friends. I miss being who I was and not needing to be brave all of the time. I miss the simplicity of our lives and the innocence of our children. We have lost so much and yet we still have so much. One does not negate the other. Focusing on the positive does not mean the rest miraculously disappears. Every so often it's ok to recognize that loss and maybe cry for a day or two. There is no comfort for that. It's just gone. The fact that Yitzi was the way he was with all of that talent and love and joy, makes the fact that he cannot do most things so much more painful.
It is now two years since Yitzi had a tracheotomy. Two years since he was given a new lease on life. They have been hard years but this year was a bit easier then last year. Still way harder then before. In all honesty, I am grateful for every second with Yitzi and I appreciate all we still have and all of the people who add to our lives. I also intensely miss what we had before. I am glad this year is over, it's been long enough and I look forward to a better year. Not just better then the last two years but really good. A year of good health and miracles. A year of deep breaths and restful nights. A year of revealed good, not trying hard to see how something can be good. A year of Nachas from our children. A year where we don't have to be brave and strong. A year where we all have time to smell the flowers and feel the wind and stand in a waterfall.