Kaddish Time

The third month since my mother died just passed.  Time feels like it's moving slowly.  The idea of going to minyan for an entire year (actually 11 months and a day) seems almost undoable.   The idea that my mother is no longer in my life seems unthinkable.  It seems just yesterday she said her final goodbye to me and, even in her weakened condition, embraced me. 

Just last week a friend of mine had Yartzeit for his mother.  He asked me to daven p'sukei d'zimrah (the first part of the morning service) before he took over.  He told me it was his 36th Yahrzeit.  He couldn't believe it had been 36 years since his mother died.  The time had passed so quickly, he said.  Death, its finality, its incomprehensibility, its injustice, seems to warp our sense of time.  Memories of my mother are replacing her presence.  But as she recedes, my face is still, and will always be, pointed toward her.