It’s hard for me to believe that it’s been ten years since she’s been gone.
At unveilings, I typically tell those assembled how one year after a person has died we begin to make the transition from mourning to memory.
For me, it’s been ten years, and I think I am still in part making that transition.
Since losing my mother, I’ve discovered that grief is funny. It’s not linear. It is more like mountains and valleys. Sometimes, you feel like you are on top of the world. In other moments, you are down in the valley in the shadow of death.
This year, I spent my mother’s yahrzeit remembering the ways that she impacted me and my own personal growth. I was blessed throughout my formative years to have learned at the feet of an extraordinary listener. I would frequently bear witness to a woman who could walk into a room at a party not knowing a single soul and schmooze with anybody and everybody. I watched her exhibit empathy for others that was second to none. At times, I see those qualities manifest themselves in me, and I am profoundly grateful.
I also see parts of her in my kids whom she never met. Zev is named for her, and is developing that same, deep sense of compassion and empathy (in between beat downs on his sister, of course). Haley has that same smile that will someday, light up many rooms.
In her honor, at some point, I’m going to go on a shopping spree. She absolutely passed her love of retail therapy down to me, even as I find myself fighting it constantly. To this day, it’s still hard for me to pass up a good outlet mall.
Needless to say, ten years out, there’s still a lot of complicated feelings. So much is going well in my life. I wish she was here to see it.
I know that her love endures well beyond her death. I can feel it every day. That doesn’t ten years out make it any easier.
– Rabbi Dan Dorsch
