Sunday, April 17, 2011

Time passes I guess.

Purim was a nightmare.  It was 2 weeks after we lost Gabbi.  2 weeks post surgery.  I made it to shul at night for my Channah's sake, and we did the minimum required mishloach manot. Good friends kept the seuda small and simple so we could go at a pace I could handle.  I still ended up crying on the couch.

It is now a month later and my kitchen is ready for the pessach that I thought would be so special- but it is just  another year.  In fact, as far as freedom goes I think I feel more for the average Joe Egyptian whose fate was decided by a king and a God well beyond his control than I do for the hundreds of thousands of men, women and children who left Egypt singing and dancing and thanking God for the chance to live a life free in his service.  He is the one who had no water to drink, no crops to eat, and who lost his son to a fate well beyond his control.

We are going to neighbours for the seder and I still expect to spend most of it crying on the couch.

How much of the calendar cycle will I spend crying on my friend's couches over what should have been?  How many "festivals" will I spend miserable and just hoping to get it over with for another year.

This year Jason was supposed to have a little baby to dance with for Simchat Torah.  A little girl to take under the talit for Koll Hanearim.  Instead we have another calendar year with Channah getting too old for these things and no hope in sight for anyone else.

Time moves on.  I don't.


  1. your identification w/ the mitzrim mourning their sons reminds me of the purim after yehuda died. my husband got drunk and all he was talking about was how hard it must have been for zeresh that all 10 of her sons were hung. he kept saying drunkenly, can you imagine? 10 sons dead. 10 sons gone.

  2. An interesting thought. We do not often give a lot of thought to the "extras" in these stories. I think it is stories like these that make people question Hashem as a God of justice and goodness and begin to see him as an evil presence.