Friday morning brought a sparkling sky. I must have slept well as I was feeling more energetic than usual. Perhaps the anti-depressants have kicked in. As I got to the Amud (prayer stand), I noticed a ray of light entering the shul through the window. Thoughts of my mother came flooding in. She loved nature. As a child, my parents took me to the forests of Canada, the mountains of the Sierras, the Redwood Coast and the Death Valley desert. After I left home, they became world travelers. One of my favorite pictures of them is on top of a mountain in New Zealand. They took my kids to the Rockies, Niagara Falls, and the Mohave Desert. That morning, every kaddish I said brought tears, the light of her presence pressing close to me.
One thing I've learned about the mourning process: its path is neither linear nor predictable. Most days you go about your business as if nothing much in your life has changed. Then comes a day, sometimes just a few moments, when you again feel broken. You never know when, or why.
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