First Yahrzeit - The Candle

B"H, 

Your Son, My husband...

What the hell is going on between you two?

Beatrice, it's a year since you died.  (Oy, I am going nuts.  I'm talking to a candle.)  It is sundown, everyone is home but no one is with me.  It is time to light the first yahrzeit candle for you.  Your son, my husband, should be doing this.  You were his mother, not mine.  You made that clear to me on so many occasions.  So, you might ask, why am I lighting this candle?  ... because I take care of these things.  Did you even notice who was taking care of this candle to elevate your soul?  Me.  I lit this candle for your sake.  Your son is not holding this burnt out match, I am.  

Please excuse me now.  I am preparing our Shabbos* menu.  

Broiled spiced lamb, grilled broccoli and potatoes, basmati rice with dill and tiny white beans, and a simple green salad.    Where are my spices?  I pull out half of my spice jars while looking for the paprika, ginger, pepper, celery seed, and cloves that I need.  The broiling pan sits on the stove top waiting for the lamb chops.  The meat is ready for the spices.  And that yahrzeit candle is flickering away at me.  Why did you always punish him?  All you could talk about to him were the wrong things that he was doing.  The wrong things we were doing.  You did not like our choice for educating your grandchildren, our children.  So, you tried to pull that golden rule trick -- he with the gold rules -- by offering to pay their tuition bills at the "RIGHT" school.  It was a huge sum but it was worth it because this was THE school to attend.  All the "right" people sent their children here.  Too bad for us that the school's ethic did not match our own.  Too bad for us that the commute was an hour each way.  Too bad for us that your ideas would complicate all of our lives beyond recognition.  Too bad that we were not the "right" kind of people.

What were you thinking?  Why didn't you, ... why couldn't you, ... why wouldn't you trust your son to do the right thing for his children?  You raised him!  Why wouldn't you trust him?   

Excuse me, Beatrice, it is time to set the table.  

That candle is still flickering at me.  You won't leave me alone.  We remembered you over dinner.  Your son was angry with me for bringing up the topic.  Or maybe he was simply angry with the topic.  Beatrice, you are not a topic, you were his mother!  What does it mean that "some damage is irreparable"?  What the hell did you do to him?  Why can't the damage be repaired?  Do you remember the tipping point when everything toppled over and you lost him?  You never relented.  He was never good enough.  Why not? ... And then, after all of that you had the nerve to die on my watch.  I wasn't good enough for anything but it was okay to die in my arms.

We come from a tradition that believes in forgiveness.  We believe in repentance, in tshuvah -- turning for the better.  Perhaps someday you and your son will make peace with each other.  I pray it happens in his lifetime.  It is too late to happen in your lifetime though I do wonder about all the blessings you would have reaped had that been possible.  In my wakeful moments I cry for you and all of those unknown moments that made you unable to apologize and unable to express your love tenderly.  In my dreams I wonder who you would have been had you possessed the ability to show your son how much you loved him and how proud he made you.   






Glossary:


*Shabbos: Hebrew word for Sabbath with an Ashkenazi pronunciation.