As the World Turns…
Time moves inexplicably forward. Six months has elapsed since Hubby’s passing. When one’s life, for so many years, has been focused on the care of another, and that purpose no longer exists… how is it possible that the earth still turns on its axis? Doesn’t everyone understand the void that now exists? Apparently not. It is I who must adjust, not those around me.
I take comfort in knowing that Hubby touched many lives, some quite unexpected. I was reminded of this by a very friendly employee of a kosher supermarket, an Israeli-Arab young man who also delivers my groceries into my kitchen each week. Yesterday, as I entered the family-owned grocery store, he greeted me and asked me how long it had been since “Mr. Diamond” had passed away. I was taken aback by the familiarity. But it is true that he had often arrived with groceries to find Hubby positioned at the dining room table, singing aloud to the melodies of Frank Sinatra. That created an unexpected connection which still remains. When I miss those moments, I simply click on the videos that I took of Hubby while he was joyfully performing and singing love songs to whomever would listen.
Absorbing the unexpected question in the fruit aisle, I counted on my fingers, the months that had flown by. Six months. How could that be? The employee looked to the heavens, lifted his hands to “Allah” and, in Arabic, blessed the memory of my husband. In case I had not understood, he translated it into English for me. “May his soul be blessed.” From this stunning moment, he seamlessly glided into recommending the best fruits of the day. This experience, juxtaposed again the recent days of violence on the Temple Mount here in Jerusalem, with rocks being hurled upon Jews at prayer below, reminded me that human beings are to be judged on their own merit. I remind myself that I must ask his name and remember it. This is a truly unique and complicated country.
In retrospect, I realize how fortunate we are to have the ability to capture our loved ones on video at any given moment. I am remembering a childhood that indeed feels like it belonged to a different Barbara entirely, when my father would pull out multiple boxes of photograph “slides” to be projected onto a large white screen in our living room so that we could all enjoy our family photos. Now we click a button on our phone, and voila, the past is brought into our present.
In the past month, I received invitations to attend three large celebrations. Even though one was with close family, I could not imagine walking into a beautifully decorated hall with loud music, dancing, and frivolity. Jewish tradition excludes a son or daughter in mourning from entering an event with music, a film or other distractions for an entire year. The law for spouses is very different. The wisdom of our ancestors invites us to return to life after a very short period of mourning. But that does not make it easy to return to normality. In biblical times, if one’s brother died, it was expected that the remaining brother would be obligated marry the widow.
Fortunately, that custom was dropped long ago, as was the idea of one man having multiple wives.
This month, intended for the celebration of others, for me became one of sobriety and reflection.
The past week was spent visiting friends of 55 years who have built themselves a lovely home on a mountaintop in Zurit, which is above the bustling town of Karmiel. I met my friend Dorit when she was 16 and I was 20 years of age, volunteering on Kibbutz Hulda, where she was a boarding student. We are sisters in the truest sense of the word. One goes to “family” when looking for a safe space.
Their new home has a wrap-around terrace from which I could see the port of Haifa in the distance and breathtaking views of the Galilee. Their front garden was designed for contemplation. It was a well needed break with good friends.
Dorit’s husband has Parkinson’s disease, but I was thrilled to see that his mind is clear. It is not unusual for sufferers to eventually get dementia, which once again makes life very difficult for the spouse and family. He still works on his computer and makes himself food when hungry. He even cooks some of his favorite foods. He is fragile. His balance is not good. His body shows the signs of many different physical issues…many of which reminded me of Hubby. I felt an instant surge of the desire to protect him from falling and to ensure he did not accidentally close the car door on his own fingers. Foolish, really, as he manages quite well the other 360 days a year – without my assistance. My maternal caring instincts were on alert even though he was not my spouse or my responsibility. His wife actually has everything under control.
We visited the city of Haifa, a short ride away, with its fascinating history and exquisite views of the sea. It is a charming mixed city of Jews, Arabs, Muslims, and Christians all living in mutual respect. The very idea that Israel could be accused of being an “apartheid state” infuriates me. Another lie. Can no one tell the truth these days?
Back to the present, I find myself quite content to be alone with my thoughts and my laptop. Good friends and conversation balance out my new existence. There are moments when I look to Hubby’s chair expecting him to be sitting there as he had been for years… and have to remind myself that he is only there in my heart.
Hubby’s spirit hovers over me, after 50 years together. One would not expect otherwise. And yet I move forward… appreciating a form of rebirth, and the gift of the time which remains.
