i went to a funeral today, for my friends' grandmother.
as some of you may know, my grandfather was niftar a number of weeks ago. it was shortly before my birthday.
as you probably do not know, 3 years ago, right after my birthday, my grandmother had a terrible stroke and lost her speech.
and 2 years before that, 9 days after my birthday, my Saba was niftar, as well.
now the conclusion you may be drawing is that, for my grandparents' sakes, i should stop having birthdays. but that's not my point tonight. my brithday, and these tragedies, coincide very closely with rosh hashana and yom kippur. combine all of those elements, and you'll find that it has resulted in my thinking about so-called "serious" topics a lot.
When Saba died, I was heart-broken. It was sudden, it was so hard... I had just gotten to Israel for my shana alef, and he had picked me up from the airport. Tradition. I went to be with him and my Savti for Rosh Hashana, and left immediately after chag, Tuesday night. He had a sudden heart attack in the beautiful yishuv he helped found, Chashmona'im. The funeral was pushed off by one day to give my family time to fly in from the States, and like that, he was gone.
I found my faith challenged, shaken. Earlier that year I'd seen the pain inflicted by the death of my friend's younger brother. He fought leukemia for a year and a half, but his death was still a shock. I couldn't wrap my mind around it, but worse - my friend was so calm. I was in hysterics when i went to pay her a shiva call, and she and another brother of hers were calming me down, telling me not to cry... They spoke of the mitzvot and spirituality Elan had brought into the world through people davening for him. I just couldn't relate, that wasn't gonna cut it for comfort for me. All I could think was that G-d was unfair, that Elan deserved to live longer, that Ariella deserved to have him be there for our graduation. For her wedding. I felt hollow, looking at pictures of him and thinking "Ariella's kids will never know him. They'll look at this picture and see a stranger. They'll point and ask who he was."
I was angry. Not the kind of anger that makes you lash at out at G-d and demand things from him, but the anger that makes you confused and lost and capable of doing really stupid things.
And then my grandfather went and died on me, without my having the chance to say good-bye. Without telling him I love him, and that I'm sorry for all the bickering we used to do. That I appreciate all the times he stopped my boyfriend and quizzed him about safe speeds on the streets when he was driving me home. I feel like Hamlet, like he's been cheated. There were no final goodbyes, there was no closure of any sort. All of my goodbyes had to come in dreams and conversations, in acting out and random hysterical sobbing fits that rendered me unable to move, feel, crunched into an aching ball of grief, missing my Saba.
It's been 5 years, and a few weeks ago I referred to my grandmother's apartment as "Saba and Savti's". I got some strange looks from my siblings.
Grandpa was sick for a long long time. the last clear memory I have of him before he started having strokes and mini heart attacks is ten years old already. He slowly went from being the huge bear of a man I had known my whole life to this thin little shrunken man. Slowly, slowly, everything changed. First his face began to look frozen. then his walking got more unsteady, his hands would shake. He stopped driving. his speech got slurred, slowed, and stopped. He went from making us laugh to laughing with us to sitting silently with us to lying in a bed, unmoving. and then unable to respond. he couldn't communicate at all. it was hell. i watched my father and my uncles and Grandma as pieces of them died with him. For two years Grandma didn't leave the house.
is it wrong to say that my initial reaction to his death was relief? freedom. that's what it was, i thought. the time for grandma to reclaim herlife, for my uncles and father to be able to go on vacation at the same time... the waiting was over, the deed was done.
and then i came home, and i saw my father, and after 6 hours of saying "it's a bracha", i fell on his neck and weeped, like a little girl. and i hugged him so hard, and all i could say was "i'm so sorry", over and over again. don't you get it? my father is untouchable! *his* parents never die. this couldn't be right.
that night, my cousins and i shared our memories of Grandpa. My cousin Darren read a eulogy for us collectively @ the funeral. i was shell-shocked. my world was crumbling - my safety net was disappearing. with grandparents alive,my parents are immortal. this brought me a step closer to the full realization that one day, i'll lose them too.
so, to finally get to my point.
I started to think about what I was feeling, why I was feeling it, and what I really thought about it, aside from what my emotions were screaming at me. here's what i discovered:
Grandpa was 85. he and Grandma were together for 59 years. they loved each other passionately through out. having not left the house in 7 years, enough people cared about him to show up at his funeral that the shul was packed. the cemetary as well. He left behind 4 children, 15 (soon, im"H, 16) grandchildren, and 10 (for now) great-grandchildren. his life was full and beautiful and amazing. he raised Torah-loving Jews, Jews who embrace their identity, and each other. A family that overcomes the differences between us (and they are vast) to love and support each other.
and i realized that all i can hope for in life, really, is that when i die - i should be just as lucky as grandpa. i want to go surrounded with love, family, offspring, a legacy. with people who will mourn my passing no matter how long it has been since we last spoke. all of life, in a way, is encapsulated in your death.
i shared these thoughts with my grandmother, and she took my face in her hands, and kissed me four times.
i like to think that each kiss from her is a multi-layered bracha, saying all the things that she can not speak since her stroke.
Grandma is reclaiming her life. She is currently in Ezras Tora, Yerushalayim, waiting for that 16th baby to come join its three siblings.
Ariella's wedding was beautiful. I thought of Elan through out, and felt him there, smiling and sharing in the simcha with us. Her baby, Eli, will always know who his Uncle Elan is, because he bears his name. I hope he also bears some of his spirit, his ability to always smile through the pain and reach out to others who needed help.
As for Saba. i miss him. i wish my niece and nephews could have met him - they would have adored him. his awful singing, his terrible jokes, his funny Czeck dancing. They would have loved his piggy-back rides, his stories, his elastic cheeks and big ears. I wonder what he thinks of me now, what he would tell me if he could. and somehow, i think that that's an integral part of death. messages that i would not have heard in my stubborness while he lived i can now find on my own, and absorb.
death is a beautiful thing. I can't begin to imagine what it is in the next world, but in this one - it's the truest test of faith, and the truest way to understand that man is not alone. and that man is alone, and dependent solely on G-d.
loves 
