Eleven Years

"There are stars whose radiance is visible on earth though they have long been extinct. There are people whose brilliance continues to light the world though they are no longer among the living. These lights are particularly bright when the night is dark."
                                                                                                     - Hannah Senesh


Eleven years.

Just yesterday. And forever ago.

A lifetime. Teddy's lifetime.

I've thought often about how to mark this. I've written so many words, and still return to ones I've written in years past. 

I still remember the dizziness that overtook me when I was asked to put the first bit of earth into the grave where I'd just laid the other half of my heart to rest. This part never leaves me, and my throat still tightens when I hear the sound of dirt on wood. 

I remember the last breath you took and the quiet that followed. I remember the moment I kissed you for the last time and left the bed we shared to tell our family gathered downstairs that you had heard our pleas and prayers and that you had let go.

I remember holding our infant son in the days and nights that followed, wishing beyond reason that I could keep him from ever feeling the pain of this.

I still remember the feeling of never being able to breathe again; of feeling numb, and hot and cold; of drowning in sorrow. 

At your funeral, Rabbi Corngold (z"l) said: 

Here’s a man who adjectives were made for; the really good ones. Living with him, working with him, being friends with him had to have been a wonderful adventure. 

Who knew where he’d turn his brilliant attention and beautiful mind to next? But the choices were never purely cerebral, were they? We commented on this yesterday; they always seemed to emerge from friendships and relationships. If there was an English teacher he liked, he’d devour Victorian poetry. If there was a riding instructor he liked from Hungary, then he’d not just travel to Hungary but learn Hungarian. If the woman he had always been waiting for is Jewish, then he’d learn and embrace Judaism with wisdom, sincerity, and all the right questions. When he had a child, he’d be the best dad for all the time he had, and give all the love and attention his strength would allow. 

If we want to see proof the science of genetics works, let' all just watch what a remarkable man Teddy will become because he has PAUL in him. Like Paul, he is already a little man on the move; he has you all so delightfully trying to keep up. That's the son of Paul...

At 12, Teddy is so much like you. He has your hands, your gait, the shape of your body, the angles of your face. He is going to be tall; he's already my height and still growing. You would be so proud of him and the way he has claimed his space in this world. The two of you would have had some wild rumpuses and outstanding adventures.

I tell Teddy as much as I can remember to fill the gaps for him. I tell Teddy how wholehearted and passionate you were; generous--often to a fault--making sure your friends and family were well cared for, and indulging others in their pursuits. I tell him you were smart, hard working, funny, kind, and genuine, and that you believed that certain experiences were once-in-a-lifetime opportunities and that those should be sought out and shared. I tell him that you were my best friend, my “bashert” and the other part of my heart. I tell him how much loving you changed me. It made me a better person, more capable of loving others, more understanding of myself, and stronger in the places that I once believed irreparably broken.

I tell those who did not know you--or us--that it is you they should thank for the best of who I am now. I wish you could know the exceptional people who are part of our lives now. I believe that you have invited most of them into my life; I feel your hand in this. They bring the best of you to me with their humor, kindness, generosity and willingness to say "yes" when life comes bearing her gifts. They are loving friends, exceptional hosts, spiritual and generous souls who have helped return the color to the edges of a picture that I had let grow dark.

I have struggled these past years to honor your memory. I have let so many days slip by, trying to hold onto the hands of the clock. There are challenges--they are the stuff of life--but there are also great joys, wondrous beauty, laughter, friendship, love and health to celebrate. I miss you in every moment, but it doesn't break my heart the way it once did.

I still collect seashells as you and I once did; I've left seashells on the stone that marks your place on the rare occasion that I am at the cemetery. I feel badly that I don't go more often, but it is not where I find you. All I find there is a gaping wound that never heals. Standing there will never feel better. I would rather carry you with me than leave you there; I would rather remember your life than be consumed by your death. I would rather remember than mourn.

Again tonight, we will turn our eyes to the stars and look for you as we always do, over Orion's shoulder. We will sign "ILY" to the sky. We will mark another year of your brilliant light shining through the dark night, and we will be grateful for the light that still shines because you lived.

143-88