Dear Boat,
This is the first year that I have celebrated my birthday without you. I have to admit, I haven't stopped crying, and the pain, the sheer unadulterated pain, it hurts. I'm not sure why I cry. Do I cry because I miss you, or because I miss the silly things that you used to do that would always make me smile? Even if it it was just a temporary fix.
I feel like there is this big grieving hole in my soul. sto, we would justiff it with aima; poo and it woule be diced, mach and that I can't ever et it to go away. No matter how dark things were, you wouler always be there to make sure that there was a light there, somewhere. The light at the end of the tunnel seems to have gone out now.
May 17 will be one entire year since you've been gone. ONE WHOLE YEAR without you. I think back to those times, and it almost seems as though it was a dream. Where there should be feelings and pain and anger and grief, now, there is just numbness.
I want to share my joys and sorrows with you. I want to tell you what has been going on in my life and with the court. But I can't, because you're not here.
I'm not angry at you... I just wish I would have had the opportunity to tell you how I felt before you were taken...
Wednesday
Dear Family
Dear Family,
Another Pesach is coming. Most in my current circles are hesitant, perhaps unable to undertstand just how difficult this holiday is for me.
I have all these memories of my family, of my siblings and me, growing up together, singing while we worked in the kitchen. The memories of me growing up aren't all good, but a lot of them were.
I went to pick up some items from The Mrs.' L and M and it's uncanny how much their homes smell like home. Chicken soup, potato kugel, cakes, regardless of when I enter these homes, I am always and consistently welcomed with open arms, without judgement, and without my fear of being kicked out. One of the Mrs.' grabbed me and hugged me. It has been too long since I've seen her. Most people cannot understand what it is that I am going through. I suspect that it takes adversity to build humblness, and thse women have humility in spades.
I realize that I have erred in how long it's been since I've written. A lot has occurred in the family while I've gone. Life has moved on, with or without me. If my children were not such a part of your lives, chances are you would have long ago moved on without a single memory of me. As it is, I'm aware that all my pictures are gone from the walls, that my childhood bedroom has been redecorated, and that there is a slow progression of the removal of "me" from the lives of everyone in the community and family who has ever known me. I have become an afterthought.
Another Pesach is coming. Most in my current circles are hesitant, perhaps unable to undertstand just how difficult this holiday is for me.
I have all these memories of my family, of my siblings and me, growing up together, singing while we worked in the kitchen. The memories of me growing up aren't all good, but a lot of them were.
I went to pick up some items from The Mrs.' L and M and it's uncanny how much their homes smell like home. Chicken soup, potato kugel, cakes, regardless of when I enter these homes, I am always and consistently welcomed with open arms, without judgement, and without my fear of being kicked out. One of the Mrs.' grabbed me and hugged me. It has been too long since I've seen her. Most people cannot understand what it is that I am going through. I suspect that it takes adversity to build humblness, and thse women have humility in spades.
I realize that I have erred in how long it's been since I've written. A lot has occurred in the family while I've gone. Life has moved on, with or without me. If my children were not such a part of your lives, chances are you would have long ago moved on without a single memory of me. As it is, I'm aware that all my pictures are gone from the walls, that my childhood bedroom has been redecorated, and that there is a slow progression of the removal of "me" from the lives of everyone in the community and family who has ever known me. I have become an afterthought.
Grief Ritual. Dear Family...
Grief Ritual
'Everyone who loses somebody wants revenge on someone, on God if they can't find anyone else. But in Africa, in Matobo, the Ku believe that the only way to end grief is to save a life. If someone is murdered, a year of mourning ends with a ritual that we call the Drowning Man Trial. There's an all-night party beside a river. At dawn, the killer is put in a boat. He's taken out on the water and he's dropped. He's bound so that he can't swim. The family of the dead then has to make a choice. They can let him drown or they can swim out and save him. The Ku believe that if the family lets the killer drown, they'll have justice but spend the rest of their lives in mourning. But if they save him, if they admit that life isn't always just... that very act can take away their sorrow.'
'Everyone who loses somebody wants revenge on someone, on God if they can't find anyone else. But in Africa, in Matobo, the Ku believe that the only way to end grief is to save a life. If someone is murdered, a year of mourning ends with a ritual that we call the Drowning Man Trial. There's an all-night party beside a river. At dawn, the killer is put in a boat. He's taken out on the water and he's dropped. He's bound so that he can't swim. The family of the dead then has to make a choice. They can let him drown or they can swim out and save him. The Ku believe that if the family lets the killer drown, they'll have justice but spend the rest of their lives in mourning. But if they save him, if they admit that life isn't always just... that very act can take away their sorrow.'
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