Tag Archives: loss

France in mourning

28 Jun

It is tough for me to explain, the juxtaposition of circumstance in which we (Brian, Esther, and I) have just lived.  For upon finishing up the memorial/burial services for our beloved, Cole, we had to continue on, “being strong”, to fulfill a commitment made prior to our loss.  This commitment just happened to be in France.

It was very strange to have such heartache within us, while engaging in new adventures with new relations…very kind and loving people.  At best, we remained “distracted” from our pain.  But every so often (daily in fact), our loss was inescapable.

For instance…

While touring the streets of Toulouse a man with a limp and a cane walked by.  I was instantly flooded with sympathy for my son, and hurt for the hardship he faced after his braintumor surgery.  My heart ached so horribly in that moment as I faced his bravery and HIS physical challenges, as seen empathetically through his eyes by way of the disabled man doing his best to navigate his physical impairment.

In another moment, while visiting Spain, I (metaphorically) stepped into the shoes of my siblings and felt the pain of their loss…the loss of their beloved nephew.  And in another town, I hurt for my mother who I knew was keeping my house (and pets) in order while we were away, yet was daily facing the undeniable reality of Cole’s empty room–her first grandchild, her angel.  And during the couple of times I was able to have a quiet walk on my own, I stepped into the shoes of the friend.  The impact of their struggle in learning how to be a friend to a fragile Cole (after his surgery), and the impact of his being gone that leaves its profound mark upon their young souls.

And of course there was (is) my own pain that is unavoidable and ever so ready in its reminder that I cannot “wake up” from this nightmare of a reality.  And then there is the pain of the sister, my beautiful Esther Rose, and the father, my ‘darlin,’ Brian.  If I could, for a moment, get away from my own mourning, theirs was present, visible, and in need of consoling.

It is a tough case, this loss.  For me, it hasn’t lessened my faith in G-d the almighty, but it has impacted my ‘faith’ in ways I cannot truly explain.  Just impacted, that is all…

After Cole’s surgery, though I ached (alongside him) for his physical, spiritual, and emotional struggles, I held on–so tightly–to the hope of his future, and I encouraged him often to see it for himself.  The scripture from Jeremiah 29, “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”, I believed with all my being in relationship to my son.  I could almost taste, touch, smell, and see the prosperous future of Cole…his dreams of a wife and children fulfilled.  His gifts and strengths being of benefit to others for years to come.  His generous heart beating full strength ahead for years and years after the statistics of his type of cancer suggested.  His touch upon this earth not hindered in the least because of his physical impairments.  …I could see it all, and my faith was fully present within my hope.

So while I remain fully comitted to my faith in G-d, his word, his promises, and the hope we are offered in this life and the life beyond, I am just a bit impacted, so to say, from not only the loss of my son, but from the loss of hope I had been clinging to in relationship to Cole’s future.  …hard to explain.  Just as being in France, while in mourning, is difficult to describe.  But I feel a bit like a disappointment.  Like one of the stories in the bible, such as Job, that no-one wants to relate to.  That we all, at some point or another, would like to believe is more myth than reality.  I mean I had such hope…such positivity, such faith–and yet, here I am–we are, all of us, hurting from this story that none of us wishes were ours to tell.  I don’t want to be a modern day Job.  I just don’t.  I don’t even like his story of intense loss, complete faithfulness to our Heavenly father, and a bounty of new blessing bestowed upon him.  It just brings up too many questions of, “why?”

Oh dear, I am rambling…the result of horrific tales of travel (delays, crowded planes, flight cancellations, loss of luggage and sleep, etc.).  I apologize, though not enough to delete this post.  😉

Next up, Japan.  Brian and I leave on Monday.  But for today, though our luggage has yet to arrive, we are home–safe.  And I write while sitting in my son’s room–as close to him as I can be…for now.

Biarritz France

Musician and daughter (Brian and Esther), walking to the ‘gig’ in Biarritz, France

bbandrivkabiarritz1

France, in mourning. Brian and Rivka

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Heroes Along The Way

3 Apr

While strolling along, in this earthly life, I have had the privilege of having varying people touch my heart; and by doing so, guide my character.  Some of these special folks are finished with this side of the ‘dust-o-the-earth’ and are probably sparkling much brighter from beyond than our dingy, planet bound, perspective allows us to acknowledge.  This post is NOT paying homage to them.

I have also been influenced by the fortitude and experiences of a few characters in life I have never met, but admired for one reason or another.  They will also NOT be considered in this particular writing.

This writing, or blog post, is specifically dedicated to those still present with me (though not necessarily close in proximity).  The idea to honor a few people, via Bentrivka.com, came to me in my 3′ x 3′ encapsulated think tank just this morning–otherwise known as my shower.  My shower is a place I tend to listen, reflect, and converse with either myself or G-d Almighty.  And sometimes I merely bathe.

At any rate, the following compilation will, hopefully by the time I finish, be in alphabetical order, so not a one will feel compelled to be slighted by their positioning on the list. 😉

  • Aunt Marge–  She gives me the gift of encouraging words and a welcoming presence.  Every time I see her, she offers up the same praises as she has done before.  Her praises always encourage, her smile reassures me I am welcome, and her patience with me seems to convey the idea that ‘I matter’.  She is a model of the best kind of cheerleader.
  • Leah– She continues to be the model of familial devotion.  Her example has held me to the task in even my most toughest challenges.
  • Momma A–  She is like Switzerland during WWII, neutral.  Her ability to offer neutrality to her family and, in some cases friends, resonates within me when I want to take sides and settle a score.
  • Nonnie–  I have never met another who extends the gift of including others more than her.  With Nonnie, every one is welcome.  This standard I long to possess naturally, though I am sad to say I don’t.  But through her influence I know how to maneuver my actions toward  this direction.
  • Teresita–  Her gift to me has been her unwavering faith.  An example was offered in my youth, though remains a source of inspiration for me to this day.
  • Zia Kafrin– Her ongoing gift to me is the manner in which she shows unconditional love and acceptance toward others.  She has modeled patience and mercy when frustration and indignation could have been an acceptable choice.

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I wrote the above post on January 31, 2013, which happened to be my birthday and also happened to be a very, very bad day.  The month that followed showed little improvement.  However, I have been given reprieve in March and am moving ever closer to a sense of consistent normalcy (consistency is key and normalcy subjective).

I actually intended to scrap this particular writing because I felt it too risky a concept (lest I forget to list a deserving soul and because allocating one attribute to each person is too hard to do–heroes are multifaceted people!).  However, I have decided to publish it INCOMPLETE as tribute to my Aunt Marge who was living back in January, though is now home in Heaven.  As I prepare to travel north this coming weekend to attend her memorial, I couldn’t bring myself to trash the list that she had, previous to her passing, made it on.  It just didn’t feel right.

And though I previously considered the list too risky, under this new banner my previous trepidations are quelled.

I love you Aunt Marge…this one’s for you! xoxo

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