Life during Corona: Weeks 3 and 4 (Passover)

Are we actually getting accustomed to this?? 

I had read somewhere that this Italian lady said that it takes until day 15 to "get used to" being on lock-down. I have to say that she is sorta right. We kinda found a little bit of a rhythm - not a great one since it depends on the day, the moods of the kids, our moods, etc (hence, why I said "sorta" and "kinda"). That's life with corona, I guess (nothing is normal).

So this week (week 3), I put up hammocks for the kids (6yo, 4yo, and 2yo) under our dining room table, which they all absolutely loved. The little one had to keep getting a bit of help to climb in, but by the end of the second day, she could do it independently. I have also been seeing a greater relationship blossom between the kids, especially between my oldest and youngest, and an improvement in the positive interactions between the 4yo and 2yo. It's a real joy to see and I don't think we would have gotten there as quickly without corona.

That being said, we've definitely had our moments (read: days) when the kids were constantly at each other's throats, crying over every little thing, needing hugs all the time, and requiring alone time with a parent to keep them apart. So, ya know, that's fun.

Also this week, we treated ourselves to ordered food (we celebrated eight years of engagement on April 2nd). Hubby enjoyed it because he got to hear a stranger's voice and we both enjoyed it because we didn't have to prepare it! And I've realized that the kids are a lot easier to deal with when they're learning different and new things. This week and next week's agenda: COOKING. I found a great video series that we all love called Mind over Munch and we've already watched a bunch of them (which is great because they get intrigued by cooking, constantly want to help, and they learn about nutrition!).

I did find that I was much more tired this week. I'm not sure if it's because of my pregnancy, because we're kinda lazing around the apartment all day (ehem, all week), or maybe a combination of the two, but those naps are getting mandatory and longer.

We ended the week with a huge cleaning fest for Passover. I sat on the couch and instructed each of them (I make a great supervisor). Each child had their own job and they were treated with some kinder bueno chocolates that had to be eaten prior to Passover anyway.

Week 4 was a little ... rougher, I think. Over the course of week 3, hubby had a horrendous headache on his right side, and on Saturday, his face became paralyzed on his right side. He was worried about a stroke (I had previously worried about an aneurysm), but once I saw the paralysis, I had such a sense of relief. My mom had experienced the same thing, called Bell's Palsy (apparently triggered by either a virus or stress - take a wild guess which one it was). He went to urgent care after sundown, was diagnosed with it and given antivirals and steroids. It should start improving in about three weeks (and max out at six months). How fun to have additional medical issues during Coronacation.

We also had plans to go to Efrat for the holiday, but, clearly, that was out of the question. So instead, we prepared our very first seder. Munchkin went to bed pretty early, but not the boys. They asked some great questions which brought us a lot of nachas (pride). It's too bad we couldn't share it with the grandparents, but, if nothing else, it'll be unforgettable!

 

I finished week 4 with a breakdown. A legit, losing my mind attitude that made my husband kick me onto the balcony where I bawled my eyes out for a solid fifteen minutes and barely held it together for the remainder of the day. I suppose it was bound to happen what with everything going on (my depression/anxiety, 29 weeks of pregnancy, corona), but hubby said that, from now on, I have to do something for myself on our balcony (ALONE) daily. We'll see what I can manage. I have been listening to meditation music at night, but I need more. Much more.

Learning to Let Go...

...and to breathe.

Yesterday was my beloved and my seventh year wedding anniversary and today is the sixth yarzheit (day of remembrance) for my mom - i.e. the anniversary of the day she died in the Hebrew calendar. And, shockingly, this is the calmest I've been in a while.

The end of August was painful - not nearly so as the middle, but I had a blood clot scare and job drama (not yet resolved, but looking good), and each morning I would count down the days until we were scheduled to go to the circus with our littles (on Friday the 30th). Once we made it to the circus, that pretty much meant I survived. Literally and figuratively. I had great belief that once August was over, things would be brighter.

It was sometime toward the end of the last week when my husband joined me in our room and told me that he realized we had NO mezuzot (scrolls) up on almost any of our doorways in our new apartment, and that we had not had any up all month. We moved in the beginning of August.

For those of you who are unfamiliar, there is a distinct and direct connection (whether superstitious or actual) between your health and your mezuzot. They are thought to act as protection over your residence and those within; they are the anti-thesis to evil and a guard over your home.

"The very purpose of mezuzot is the protection of the house and its inhabitants."

My husband is not the superstitious type (I am) so for that to come out of his mouth meant more than anything. We had had a crap-tastic month with no mezuzot. I was quiet and shocked and he immediately said, with great resolve, "I am going to find the mezuzot tomorrow and put all of them up. We need a better month."

And so he did.

Friday was Circus Day and we had a grand time. The kids requested cotton candy (it was larger than their heads) and sat there, astounded, eyes glued to the performance. Every so often, one of them would turn to us and say in their little voices, "What in the WORLD was that!?" It was magical and still brings a smile to my face.

Immediately after it ended, I realized my phone and wallet had dropped. It's still August, I thought, devastated, knowing that Shabbat was about thirty minutes away. Security couldn't find it. I couldn't find it (even with fifteen minutes of intense searching with a baby on my hip). My husband then went to find it and came back with it in hand. RELIEF!

We walked home quickly, lit candles, ate our Shabbat meal, put the kids to bed, said our gratefuls, one of which was celebrating the end to one of the worst months of our lives.

* * *

The next afternoon, after missing for at least six months, I found my engagement ring. Randomly, on the floor, laying and twinkling at me just inside a cabinet door, like the planet hadn't just shifted beneath my bare feet.

I blinked and gently picked it up. I turned it over. It wasn't my imagination - it truly was sitting in my hand, sparkling and reflecting more than seven years of love.

Over a month prior to moving, I had shared my worst fears with hubby, that my ring was lost forever. I was even ready to says the blessing for recovering lost items (like I said, superstitious), but my husband had faith it would turn up - even dreamed that it would be found before our anniversary.

And so it did! And, yes, I've been wearing it every day since.

Immediately after finding my ring, I jumped up, ran into our room, leaped onto the bed, and woke my husband with a huge smile on my face. He shared in my joy and calmly said, "you know, it's also Elul (a new Jewish month)... and Monday is our anniversary."

I could have cried with the sheer relief of it all. The weight suddenly lifted off my shoulders.

So who cares that we now have to get up and take three kids to three separate Ganim? Who cares that we now have parental meetings and all sorts of extracurriculars to handle? Who cares that I'm remembering my mom's passing at the same time as celebrating my marriage? NOT ME.

My mom would be super happy for me. She met my husband and loved him as a match for me. She saw the ultrasound of my first baby and loved the perfect shape of his head. I have an amazing husband who takes me to the beach at night to celebrate seven years, with wine and cheese, fruit and dip, and crepes with chocolate and jam. I have three ridiculous children who smile and scream with delight every time I come home from work. I live in a lovely neighborhood with really kind friends nearby who honestly care about me. I get to keep up and share videos and photographs with my friends and family regularly because of technology. I may not be financially wealthy (yet), but I am rich because I have a full life.

It's not perfect and I'd like another baby (healthy!), but today, at the beginning of September, Elul, and the rest of our lives, I'll take it.

The Freedom of Commitment: Religion

To me, the best, most comforting and loving thing in the world is a hug. It envelops you, holds you close, provides emotional and physical support, and comfort. It makes you relax, feel cared for, loved, and, best of all, you know you are not alone.

This is my view on religion.

When I was younger, there was an eight month period of time when I wasn't religious. I didn't celebrate Shabbos and didn't keep kosher (though I still didn't eat meat and cheese together and didn't eat shellfish). I lived with a non-Jewish girl and did almost whatever I wanted simply because I wanted to see what it was like on the 'other side.' I wanted to see how a majority of Americans lived and what it'd be like to not be restricted by all the rules.

I was expecting to feel freedom and a lightness of responsibility.

What I felt instead was confusion and a loss of structure. One day blended into the next, one week into another, months went by with no sign of division; I didn't know what day it was. Never mind the guilt. I had actually taught myself to ignore it years before. No - the real problem, in addition to the chronological confusion, was my loss of identity.

I was just like everyone else (my personal hell)!!

How did people live like this, doing whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted, to whomever they wanted? How did they STOP and give some time to themselves? How did they judge who and what should have the highest priority? How did they decide what, if anything, was more important and bigger than themselves? I had no reason for why I did things except that it felt good. Why not?

What I learned from that period of time was that, just as children need structure in order to blossom, adults need structure and rules as well. The Federal and State governments provide laws in order to protect its citizens; religions are no different (though their rules are based on morality).

Even as I returned to the comforts of observant Judaism, I still fought many of the rules. Despite loving to learn about it, I refused to study it since I then felt that I'd be obligated to follow what I learned (I have a tendency to need to follow logic). For years, it was quite an internal struggle that I suffered. I even recall having a breakdown while hanging out with a former (non-Jewish) boyfriend, in tears because I felt so incredibly torn.

It was physically painful.

My Jewish soul was tugging at me constantly. Only after I accepted that I was Jewish and LOVED being Jewish did the relief finally come. That's not to say that it's easy for me. I still struggle almost daily with some of the rules. But, in general, I have discovered that instead of fierce restrictions and limitations choking me, my religion permits me a certain freedom -- the freedom I had been originally searching for.

Freedom to stop worrying about my calendar.
Freedom to focus on my future rather than my present.
Freedom to permit myself a weekly vacation.
Freedom to recognize a special soul within myself (and, more importantly, others).
Freedom to accept a REASON for everything (even if I don't know what it is).
Freedom to enjoy structure.
Freedom to know that I am not the most important thing in my world.
Freedom to feel that I'm being protected.
Freedom to see the bigger picture of my neighborhood, world, and universe.

Too much freedom can easily be overwhelming and destructive. Routine and discipline have their benefits.

As Albert Einstein said wisely, "[a]ll religions, arts and sciences are branches of the same tree. All these aspirations are directed toward ennobling man's life, lifting it from the sphere of mere physical existence and leading the individual towards freedom."

The structure of my religion has provided me with freedom and a breath of freshness. While my intellectual fight continues and while my emotional struggle goes on, I realize that there's something out there that is smarter than me. I am still myself. I am sassy, argumentative, independent, and colorful. I ask 'why' to many of the rules and beliefs because I need to understand the logic behind laws. I'm not so arrogant to think that I have all the answers, but I feel comforted that Something does.

To me, that's better than a hug.

The Jewish Way of Mourning

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My pursuit of happiness has been interrupted this past month with the sudden, and unexpected, death of my mother, Harriet Carole Gaba Drissman (Chana Tziril bas Teibl). She was 73, between her Hebrew and English birthdays - young by today's standards. Definitely young by my standards.

Many people have asked me what happened; if it was expected. I've tried to find the simplest answer for them: she had chronic issues but they aren't what caused her death. So NO, it wasn't expected. I know they are asking because we try to understand death and to get some sort of grip on it, but I'm not sure repeating the same information, over and over, to dozens of people is helping me.

What is helping me? 

I suppose it is the Jewish approach to mourning. Seven days of Shiva, 30 days (Shloshim) - which continues for 23 days after Shiva ends, and then 11/12 months of mourning (for a parent).  Some mourn for 12 full months, but others only mourn for 11 months (because we don't want to acknowledge or feel that our lost loved one would be waiting to get into heaven for the full twelve months).

I dreaded the funeral and I'm still not up to speaking about it. But Shiva was mostly helpful to me (it’s different for everyone – some do not find it helpful). I got to see whom my mother touched by speaking to them, laughing with them, joking with them. I heard stories that I hadn't heard before.

My baby brother's married friend got pregnant. As soon as she found out she was having a baby girl, my mom went shopping and dropped off baby clothing to the girl's mom (my mom's bank teller) and wished her a hearty congratulations.

My friends had a baby girl 10 months ago. When she was born, my mom went out and bought them an entire set of Little Midrash Says. They read it to her on a regular basis. That way, they thought of her and she has been with them each time.

I really didn't look forward to the end of Shiva. Partly because I liked hearing the stories and seeing all my nieces and nephew, but partly because I wasn't ready to face the "new normal." I'm still not ready but I don't have much of a choice.

The First Week, Post-Shiva

This week, the first full week after Shiva, has been ridiculously difficult. I miss my mom. At every moment I am a breath away from tears. I keep expecting her to walk in with her wobbly walk, silver cane, and a smile on her face. I can't text her anymore. I can't call her anymore. All I have left are my memories, my photographs, my videos, and one of my last texts from her, "xoxoxo."

In some ways, Shloshim is much worse than Shiva. At least at Shiva, there were people around telling stories of my mom, my brothers and sister were around, my husband was there, everyone was taking care of me and making sure I was eating and drinking.

Shloshim sucks. My siblings have returned to their lives, my husband is working, and I am home. Alone. Doing nothing but try to convince myself to shower and get errands done. I think of my mom all the time.

My Shloshim for my mother ends at Rosh HaShanah. I can't cut my nails, listen to music, buy new things, wear new clothing, accept gifts, and cannot shower or bathe for pleasure. I cannot attend social events or social gatherings.

My nails are getting long and making typing difficult. I am pregnant and will need new maternity clothing in the next few months. I have friends who are celebrating birthdays and baby events. But I'm okay with all of that because the restrictions are forcing me to address my great and terrible loss.

I have lost many people in my life, more than most. But they were never someone for whom I had to sit Shiva on low, uncomfortable chairs for a week. What I learned from those losses -- the hard way -- is that I need to confront and address the loss or the loss will overwhelm me and my crippling emotions will be uncontrolled, popping up at random times.

Each day people and friends call and text me to see how I'm doing. I don't answer the calls; I'm not up to it yet. Other friends are urging me to take the time I need, that everyone recovers at a different pace. When I have a bad day (or night), I text friends and cousins I know who have experienced the same loss. 

I don't smile like I used to, but I know eventually that will change. Eventually, the memories that make me cry and miss my mom the most are the ones that will make me smile the biggest (or so I’ve been told). I'm not there yet.

But I'm grateful that I had her for 35 years. I'm grateful that she attended my wedding and walked me down the aisle, on the beach, barefoot, with my dad and me. I'm grateful she knew I was pregnant and expecting at the end of January. I'm grateful that she saw ultrasounds of the cutest baby ever (her words). I'm grateful that I got to live with my parents and get to know them for years after I moved back home. I'm grateful I inherited some of my mother so that I can remind others of her.

I can't ignore the pain - I'm spending lots of time at the hospital because my husband's grandmother is sick. I can't ignore the pain because others I know and care for are going through more pain than I am. I can't ignore the pain by distracting myself with happy, laughing children. I want to so badly... but I can't ignore the pain.

I'm grateful I have this time forced upon me. I am now sitting at home, going through photographs of my mom so I can put together memory books for my siblings, my dad, and the grandkids. I am making a list of the things my mom loved, like polka dots, reading historic romance novels through her father's magnifying glass, painting, and playing Scrabble (she beat me in our last game).

There are some things I don't understand about Judaism. I'm not sure I understood this before I lived through it. But the 7/30/365 is really helping so far. I can only hope that the remainder of the Shloshim and the year is just as rehabilitative as it can be, considering the circumstances.

The Second Week, Post-Shiva

Ups and downs. I was warned that every day is going to suck, just some less than others. I spent her birthday with my girlfriends at the pool, recovering in the sun. I haven’t been outdoors all summer since much of it was at a hospital.

I’ve started eating again, which pleases my husband. I lost five pounds the week of Shiva and he got nervous. My appetite has returned, but this time baby prefers meats and heavier dishes. I still think of my mom, but I’ve started speaking about her out loud instead of avoiding verbalizing my thoughts. I still want to cry, even now.

I continued going through my photographs on my laptop and found a video I took of my sister’s little girl. My mother was in it and she spoke. It was probably only 5-7 seconds of her speaking, but IT HAS HER VOICE. Last week I already couldn’t remember her voice and I was horrified. I felt that, when I found this video, some of my prayers were answered. I felt a little better.

**                        **                        **

Because my husband’s grandmother is in the hospital and we didn’t know the outcome, his mother and sister flew in from Israel. They have been here all week and at first I accompanied them to the hospital. I only did that a few times because I realized it was too soon for me. It didn’t help that she was in the same room that my mother had been prior to being transferred to ICU. Sitting there, knowing all the nurses, seeing another person I care about sick… I stopped going.

I went to synagogue with my dad and when they collected names of sick individuals (so they could say prayers for them), he automatically said my mother’s. My heart broke all over again and I cried. I seem to have a harder time at synagogue – I haven’t gone one Shabbos without crying and needing tissues. I have been looking forward to Rosh HaShana more and more this week. I need to get rid of this year; it has been way too difficult for me. I need a fresh start. I prayed for a relaxing Shabbos, one where I might be able to breathe, and after Shabbos received bad news. My brother’s father-in-law passed away suddenly on Shabbos morning.

The Third (and last) Week, Post-Shiva

My brother now is hosting Shiva again, the second time in a month. Once for his mother, once for his father-in-law. I went to the funeral and was a mess. I avoided the cemetery for two reasons: (1) it wasn’t emotionally healthy for me to go; (2) Jewish custom dictates that a pregnant woman shouldn’t go.

I went to Shiva this morning. Everyone in the family was there, and I know most of them relatively well. Some from college, some through my sister-in-law. It was horrendous pain all over again. I lost control and my headache returned with a vengeance. And unfortunately, we now have another something in common: we have both lost a parent at too young an age and so suddenly. I’m reminded harshly of the great and terrible pain of losing my mom, of all the future memories I am now cheated out of, of my children knowing her in person. Eulogies I heard at the funeral suddenly transposed into eulogies for my mom. Staring at the pine box in the front of the room reminded me of my mother’s pine box.

**                        **                        **

I think again of Rosh HaShana coming up (this Wednesday night). It will cut off our Shloshim and we will move into the third phase of mourning for my mother, the year. This year has been challenging, to say the least, and I have only two more days to gather and hold this grief to me. My brother hasn’t yet shaved, my nails are still long, and I still avoid music if I can.

Somehow, life still continues on without her. My husband goes to work, the post office still delivers mail, phone calls from solicitors keep coming to my dad’s house. My father replies, “Harriet is deceased.” They say sorry and hang up. I open mail to my mom and call to cancel appointments explaining that she passed away three weeks ago.

My wonderful husband and I started cleaning and organizing the house, and I’ve decided there’s nothing more cathartic than manual labor, sweating, and the smell of cleaning supplies.

I miss my mom terribly. I miss everything about her. My dad and I spent today together at Greenfield Village and I kept thinking about how she would have gotten around the museum, what job she would have liked best there (she occasionally talked about becoming a docent there and dressing up in 18^th and 19^th century clothing), how we would have gone into the millinery store together. I didn’t mention any of that. I’m sure that my father was thinking it too.

Instead, he and I tried forming new memories. We walked around together, read signs, got strawberry lemonade slushies, took some photographs (I stole some of him), and, at times, just walked together in silence.

Life is not the same without my mom. It will never be the same again. The hole in my heart is still the same size and the edges are still tattered and bleeding.

But I keep looking forward, thinking of my dad, my sister and brothers, my in-laws, my nieces and nephew, my baby that my mother was so terribly excited about. I keep thinking about my husband, with whom I celebrated one year today.

My mom always had a smile on her face, and if there’s one thing I can try and learn from her, it’s to smile… if for no other reason than to keep them wondering what you’re thinking.

So my Shloshim is almost over, and I think I’m in [slightly] better shape than I was three weeks ago. I’m not ignoring the pain; I’m not suppressing it. I don’t know how healthy I am, but I’m doing what I can to embrace the pain, because next week will be a new step in mourning even though the hole will still be there.

I continued with my artwork, took new photographs this week, will start sketching and painting again next week. Continued with my Scrabble games so that maybe, just maybe, I can attain the same ranking that my mom did. I call my sister and go see my brothers. I text them more regularly to tell them I love them dearly. I talk to my cousins more than I used to and hug my aunt and uncle whenever I see them.

I end Shloshim with the Jewish New Year. The shofar will blow and I will cry (my mom loved the sound and so do I), but we will get a fresh start and a clean slate – one we badly need. Hopefully this coming year will be one of health, new life, success, and joy for me and those I love.

As for those you love, hug them. Call them. Text them. Tell them how you feel. You never ever know what tomorrow will bring.