Through this blog, written during my year of saying kaddish for my mother, Hilda Yael Kessler, may her memory be for a blessing, I attempted to reflect on and find meaning about the internal as well as ritualistic processes of mourning. I hope others may identify with and find some measure of comfort in its words.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
I missed Kaddish. I forgot!?
Yesterday was Sunday. A day I don't have a strict routine. I did family chores in the morning after morning services. I had lunch, paid some bills, made some phone calls, worked on my lesson plans (have I said I'm a teacher?), then began making dinner. Okay, the TV was on, a basketball game that I watched from time to time. All of a sudden I remember: "Oh my God, shul!" I looked at the clock. It was after 6:00 p.m. I'd missed Mincha. Fortunately, I was able to make the late Ma'ariv (evening prayer) service so I didn't miss both kaddishes. But truth be told, I was mortified. How could I forget to go to shul? Isn't this obligation the most important facet of my life at present? Am I not taking my kaddish obligation seriously enough? Or do I inwardly resent this burden of saying kaddish every single day, three times a day? Or did I just "space out?" I'm only human. I forgot. Still, these questions are difficult to dismiss with an "oops." There's more than a grain of truth in all of them.
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