My heart hurts today. It’s a familiar ache—one I’ve felt over and over again for the last 25 years, and also an ache that has been ever-present these last two. Different aches. One of devastation and loss, and one of wanting and waiting.
As I sit in reflection, I’m lost for the words to describe today.
On one hand, today is a day for play and pleasure. My boys don’t have school, and they are four and five. Their childhood demands smiles and fun! It’s also the time when we prepare for chag, ready ourselves to welcome our guests into our home, fill our home with delicious smells, and ready our souls to crown Hashem anew.
And the paradox of life is that always you do all of this alongside an ache in your heart.
Memories of times together. Weekends when my young twenty-something cousin woke at 6 to play with me, and then trying to tackle him in the snow—myself, Jenny, Michelle, and Jenny’s sisters all trying together.
But I also think of everything he missed.
As I raise my own children, I wonder what kind of father he would have been. What kind of cool big cousins my boys would have had. And the depth of the ache can feel so overwhelming that I lose my grip. I forget my purpose of today.
But I breathe. I regroup. And I focus on my now.
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