30 Days After, AKA, The Shloshim
The passing of a spouse of fifty years is a massive event. How does one move forward without a how-to guide? How to act? How to mourn? How to respond? How to process the loss? How to find a new purpose in life?
Judaism has many wonderful life-cycle traditions. The shloshim is one of them. At the end of thirty days following the funeral of a loved one, family and very close friends return to the cemetery for a short service, and time to reflect together on their loss. Some families have an unveiling ceremony for the headstone at this moment, but the stone can be placed at a later time – usually within a year of the passing.
Yesterday was my shloshim” for Hubby. I was joined by our family Rabbi, four cousins, two close friends, and of course Hubby’s wonderful caregiver, Violet. Violet confided in me that her previous employers did not think to invite her to the shloshim for each of their parents even though she had been the one who cared for every day for many years. Did they not understand that she too was grieving?
You would not expect me to be fond of a cemetery. It cannot seem normal. But I find comfort in knowing that this specific cemetery is occupied by many people whom I have respected and loved over the years. It is specifically why we bought plots there twenty years ago.
Of course, I have fond memories of Hubby and I disagreeing on whom would be placed on the right or left of the double plot. It was clear that Hubby needed to be placed on the right, and I on the left because that was how we slept every night for fifty years. Surely it should remain so for eternity? It is hardly surprising that the gravestone designs which appeal to me, are reminiscent of a bed with a headboard at one end.
You may think that cemetery humor is ill-placed at a time such as this. But we purchased these plots during the second Intifada in Israel, which began in September of 2000 and lasted until February of 2005, and the reason was intensely serious. Living in Jerusalem, the terror attacks were frequent occurrences. Coffee shops, pizza parlors, buses, and shops blown up with innocents murdered was very distressing. The possibility that each of us might become a victim lived with us every moment.
In Judaism it is considered a mitzvah to arrange for our burial while we are still able to make important decisions. It became a concern for me that my father might want me buried in Virginia. Hubby’s family might want him buried in London. Our son might want us buried wherever he might be living, when in fact we knew that we wanted to be buried in Israel. It did seem wise to avoid any conflicts for the family and purchase the plots where we wanted our final resting place to be.
Hubby had a good sense of humor and shared with our friends that I had bought him a wonderful birthday surprise – two plots in Beit Shemesh. Then it turned out that our good friends had already purchased ten plots, and that many others had done the same. His good friend, Mike used to say that if he had known how the property was about to increase in value, he would have bought twenty! When he said “Welcome to the neighborhood” I took it to heart, and felt a calm wash over me. Many of the same people I love in my life now will be my neighbors for eternity.
As the Tehillim prayers were being chanted in Hubby’s memory, I felt the tears flowing down my cheeks. I had not cried since his passing. Death is a massive concept to process. This is not the first time I have seen a loved one’s final moments, up close. This was however the very first time someone I had cared for so arduously for fifteen years, and had loved for fifty, disappeared from my life. The calm that set in immediately was unexpected.
The physical and mental exhaustion that followed the two weeks of family and friends sharing their memories and days with me, was totally surprising. Both our brain and our body know when we need to let go. Both demand that we now care for ourselves. It is not an option. It just is – much like our own birth and death all beyond our control.
It is also Jewish custom to place a stone on the grave of someone you visit. My niece from London purchased a polished stone, with the Hebrew word ahava, Love carved into it. She asked me to place it on the gravesite. Next to it, I placed a large chunk of amethyst crystal, so that Hubby would know that I had been to visit him. Next to the amethyst, two ginger snap cookies for the birds to enjoy so that they will watch over his grave in my absence. Violet tucked today’s Jerusalem post newspaper in the corner of the site, so Hubby could continue to read the headlines and proclaim them for all to hear.
The only thing missing from Hubby’s resting place, was his cup of coffee and the melodic sounds of Frank Sinatra.
