Tag: Mom

Another Excerpt from Part III – Becoming the Oldest Generation – Flying Back to Israel for Mom’s Funeral

… Part of me still thinks I will see Mom when I arrive. I imagine her in her room, the room I sleep in when I am there. She is changing her clothes. I see the deep green jade fish on her dresser and the small light green jade statue of Quan Yin. I think of greeting Sami the dog. I imagine the dust on the white stone tile floor and the cool marble top of the dresser that was Mom’s mother’s. Will it be passed on to Lainey and to me in its third generation of women? As Lainey said, we are now the oldest in our female line. Nothing stands between us and our mortality in our female lineage.

And my feelings seem to be on hold, in the air as I travel between these realities, a reprieve from the storm to come. I can’t quite grasp the vision of burying Mom, of Mom really gone. I know that my last trip prepared me, but still I feel unprepared. I am strangely calm, yet there is an odd excitement in my belly and my chest.

I am part of the human experience, part of the cycle of life and death that all beings experience.

 

©2016

 

 

Excerpt from Becoming the Oldest Generation Part III – Her Burial

When we arrived, the gravedigger was standing in the grave. Immediately I thought of Hamlet –this scene was so strong. His presence felt knowing and powerful as he stared at us, his gray-black beard and wild, frizzy white hair framing his radiating intensity. Mom’s body was slipped from its bag, and still wrapped in a white shroud she was lowered into the grave. No ceremony, no fanfare, she was just quickly lowered diagonally into the grave. Lainey wailed and we all cried. Next they put Styrofoam squares over her, over half of the grave. The gravedigger climbed out on them, and then he put Styrofoam squares over the rest of her body. Finally, everyone who wanted to, started filling the dirt in. I threw in a handful. Some people took turns with the shovel, including Lainey. When Mom was all covered in a mound, people placed rocks and stones on top, signifying permanence, of both death and memory of the departed. Margalit, Judith, Deena and Shlomo had brought shells from the ocean and placed them on top of the burial mound. Someone handed me a rock and I put it on the pile. I hadn’t known about that custom beforehand or I too would have brought a shell and stones. But Margalit told me that she piled on enough for me too.

Then it was over.

©2016