My husband's mother has been ill for quite some time; for the past few weeks she has been in hospice care, and over the past few days she has not been eating. It was her desire that life not be prolonged unnaturally, she hasn't been very happy for a long time, and we knew that she most likely would not be on this side of the veil for much longer. Still, the phone call last night, letting us know she'd passed, has knocked the wind out of me a bit. On one hand, I'm happy that she's no longer suffering, no longer existing in a state so completely unlike the one she lived in for most of her life, confined to a special chair designed for the comfort of those who've become mostly immobile. When we visited her in the nursing home, she asked DH for a cup of coffee, and his sister advised us against giving it to her because it would've been too difficult for her to drink it and the caffeine would've had a negative effect on her system. Even the smallest details of her life were out of her control. I know that was not the way she wished to live and, in the absence of full recovery being possible for her, leaving this existence meant peace for her.
I think that most of the sadness I feel comes from knowing how difficult the transition to life without his wife will be for DH's father. They were married for many, many, many years and watching her descend into a deeper and deeper state of unwell was very difficult for him, as well as the separation they suffered because she could no longer live at home and had to be moved to a nursing home facility. In addition to this, I'm sad beyond words that she and my daughter didn't have more time together. I wish my daughter could have known her grandmother the way that I knew mine. I wish she could have spent more time with her, had sleepovers with her grandparents, learned how to make cookies with them, attended movies and maybe plays, seen the way they lived their day to day lives. I wish. I wish.
Last night, as my husband said his prayers, I said a few of my own. Alone in the darkness of our front steps I softly spoke the words of the Mourner's Kaddish in Hebrew. Tradition is to say this each day for eleven months and I'm considering taking the practice up for Hub's mom, even though she wasn't Jewish. In Jewish belief, reciting this prayer helps the soul of the deceased cross into an existence with God. I think that it also helps those left behind come to terms with the loss. There is some comfort in a belief that the prayers one is saying are having a positive effect on the loved one who has left, something good about slowly accepting the new reality of our lives without the person we loved.
I think that I'm finally arriving at a place where I'm ready to make Judaism my spiritual practice in all things. For so long I've been drifting, but I think that the key for me might be to understand that I'm not going to be able to adapt each and every ritual right away and get them all right all the time. In fact, there may be some that I'll never adopt, and others which I'll integrate slowly into my life. Some might come easily, while some I might struggle with. Being a crazy artsy tree hugging bright color wearing type of person, I'm not envisioning a life of wearing nothing but long dresses and dark stockings. I don't think I could do that and I don't think taking up that style on a full time basis would send my husband's heart into overdrive. I might be able to do it sometimes, though, and I am definitely interested in the idea of keeping kosher. Even more than that, I'm interested in the idea of keeping eco-kosher.
I'm not sure if we'll be going to New Orleans for the memorial yet; my husband is considering his work schedule, the cost of airline tickets, and whether or not we can all afford to go. He might go alone; we might all go up there together. I want him to do what's going to be best for him in the long run. I haven't talked with our daughter about her Grandmother's passing yet, unsure how I should approach the subject. I know that we will talk with her about it soon, but we haven't spoken with her about it yet. Every time I look at her and think about what this loss means for her, my heart breaks all over again.
Oseh shalom bim'romav hu ya'aseh shalom
aleinu v'al kol Yis'ra'eil v'im'ru
Amein
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