My saddest day

I hadn't thought about my experiences on July 15, 2000, in a direct way in a long time. My conversation last night caused me to remember what happened. I was at Chalutzim at OSRUI that year, and I received a letter. At first I thought it was from my beloved, but it was from her parents. I remember the stamp held an image of the American flag. I remember reading how sorry they were that this was the only way to reach me, the only way to tell me, and that "their son" had committed suicide. They had found my love on July 12, dressed in a suit and tie, on the floor. It was too late. They knew that we had been close and considered me like family.

There was no way not to believe them. But I also could not deal with it properly. I wanted to run away from the news. I felt that if I could just get far enough away from that piece of paper doom it would go away. I ran from Chalutzim to Tiferet to search one of my former counselors (I did not feel I could trust the Chalutzim madrichim). I found one of my all-time favorite counselors who asked me what was wrong.

I remember saying, "She's dead. She's dead." I was sobbing by that point.

"I'm sorry. Who was she?"

"My life," I said. I'm not sure if I had ever put it in those terms before, and I'm not sure if he understood what I meant. He helped me calm down a little, and I think I told him then that she was "a good friend" of mine and a little bit more about her.

He helped me calm down, but by the end of the conversation, I was angry at her, and remained so for a long time. How could she have done this to me? (Clearly, she had never really loved me.)

I guess this was the start of my grieving process for her.

Uncovering My Head

I have stopped always covering my head. Almost ten years ago, in August of 2000, I started covering my head all the time in hopes of doing something active to make myself more mindful. I did this because I felt guilty. There must have been something I did or something I could have done that I didn't do to prevent my love's suicide. Recognizing that I am not at fault for her death was an important step.

In the meantime, I have been accustomed to wearing a hat or kippah all the time. However, if I am serious in my approach to Judaism, I have to be just as willing to reexamine and abandon practices that are not adequately meaningful or that I am doing for the wrong reasons as I am quick to adopt new and meaningful practices for the right reasons.

Thus, the headcoverings are coming off, at least most of the time. I still feel naked without one, but I am hoping that will pass.

The Power of a Few Good Tears

I awoke today with the sense of an innocent fourteen-year-old. I felt my love's arms wrapped around me. The chords of our song were in my head and I could smell the aftereffects of an August rainstorm.

When I came to my twenty-four-year-old senses, I cried and now I feel oddly peaceful.

An Old Orange Stegosaurus

Today, in my grief, I picked up the old orange stegosaurus eraser that my beloved had given me as a gift in elementary school. It's one of those erasers from those quarter eraser machines every elementary school seemed to have in the early '90s. When I picked it up, I had a flashback to when she gave it to me. I saw her, felt her press it into my open palm, saying "I know you like dinosaurs." I decided to carry it with me today because of that.

Amazing Experience

Sometimes, when you need to do amazing things you get to. Sometimes, when you need to do amazing things you get to, even if you haven't planned on it and even if the person who suggests doing them doesn't know you need to do amazing things. Yesterday, I went to the drum circle event at Rockefeller Chapel as a part of UofC's C.R.A.S.H week. It was certainly a fun experience. Since the drum circle happened right before the weekly carillon concert, we were able to carry our drums up the 271 stairs to the top balcony of the chapel (and also to the carillon room - I got to play notes on the carillon). Having the extraordinary experience of the view from the top of Rockefeller was definitely worth the climb (and the descent). Also, it was an experience I definitely needed to have yesterday, at least in retrospect.

The Unexpected

Memory, sadness, and anger have a tendency to creep up on me unexpectedly. Yesterday, I was asked an innocent question about my familiarity with a certain geographic area, which I answered very succinctly as to avoid any sort of break down. Which was successful for a while, until I got an email at an old account from my love's little brother. I haven't heard from anyone in her family for several years. Much later in the day I could not sleep I was so saddened.

Yizkor

So I ran late to 7th-and-last day of Pesach services at my synagogue on Monday. I am glad I made it. It was not the first time I had said Yizkor for my love, but it was the first time I felt no need to hide any part of my identity or hers in order to do so. I even refrained from breaking down during services, though I did cry when I returned to the relative safety of my apartment. Of all the occasions for Yizkor, Pesach tends to be the hardest for me. Perhaps because saying Yizkor for my love reminds me even more than does the Seder that redemption is not complete.