A Long December

Tue 26 Dec

It's been a tough few months.

For Joel's and Tammy's birthdays we just tried to  make sure that they had a fun time with nice presents whilst keeping things relatively low key. 

Tammy's had the added sensitivity of being a twelfth birthday rather than the batmitzvah that she should have had. 
No big party, no community celebration, no recognition of coming of age.
It obviously was not the right time for a family simcha.
And Tammy got that and pretty much took it in her stride, once we'd agreed that she would at least be able to get a laptop this year!

Tammy's non-batmitzvah (perhaps postponed batmitzvah is a more positive way of looking at it) happening at a similar time to the simchas of a few of our wonderful friends.

We tried to reclaim some joy and fully celebrate - and I must admit that it doesn't normally take much to suck me onto the dance floor and start going for it! - and for some of the time we managed, but often after a while a realization dawns, whether it's remembering the wonderful time we had at Joel's barmitzvah with Shani, the fact that Tammy's is not happening this year, or simply that we'll never have a celebration and a party for Shani's batmitzvah, and suddenly you feel in a sad.

Somehow, the music and the people feels further away, quieter, less real, and instead there's a pervasive feeling of sorrow and grey.

But in a way, that's fine.

A little grief within a celebration is actually a very Jewish way of doing things: salt with the challah, break glass at a wedding - grief isn't something that I can just put aside for an evening, I can't and wouldn't want to prevent thoughts of Shani entering my mind - I want her to be there, and having a moment of sad is sometimes the only way.

Grief and life, embracing both, together.

And often it only takes a little walk outside, a short chat, a friendly leg squeeze or hug, or a Wham song to get back into the reverie.

My birthday was worse.

A day of morose unhappy thoughts, and work.

Interrupted, happily, by lunch with Juliet.

Some days at the moment, we just get through. Chanukah was another example.
With Shani's name mentioned in the final verse of Mo'atzur - miracles being done for Shoshanas - that part was always going to be difficult.

On most days, candle lighting was thankfully a bit quick as we all had things we were doing in the evenings to get to, so we only got as far as the first verse and, somehow, that didn't feel so bad.

But on one of the evenings there was just the four of us with plenty of time and so we sung right through, falling apart at the end, weeping with sorrow at the words that had become lies, hugging together to regain a semblance of family moment and Chanukah memory.

Each of these times, occasions, birthdays, holidays, simchas, it has been a first, the first time that we've had to encounter time without Shani.

Each time has presented it's own version of grief and it's own memories rekindled and mourned.

Each time we've made it through with support from one another, family, friends and community.

And each time we've managed to find a way, sometimes small, sometimes wonderfully large and love-giving, to reclaim some joy and make some new memories to take into next year.