It's still so hard to believe that Hannah has a yartzheit.
I have so many questions, many of which will never be answered. Why did this happen? Will I be able to survive life without her? Is there any meaning to life, does everything turn out for the best?
The pain of missing Hannah definitely ebbs and flows now that it has been a while. When she first died, I remember feeling so much pain, everything set me off. Every time the train pulled into the 96th Street station where we would always meet up to go downtown, I would burst into tears. I go there every day, so that pain has diminished. Or at least I had thought so. The other day, I was huddled into my puffy coat (really Hannah's) and the train pulled into the station, and I realized, I'm in as much pain now as I ever was. I miss her from a place in my chest that contracts in agony thinking about her. It's just that the novelty has worn off. There's nothing new or interesting about my pain now. It's repetitive. I miss her. Why did this happen? 25 years old. No meaning, no purpose, no sense. The obvious swirls around me, and others don't know what to say in response, so I've pretty much stopped saying it. But it doesn't change the pain. In fact, as anyone knows who keeps something inside, it probably hurts more now.
After that initial month, I had the briefest sense of relief. I had survived Shloshim. I began putting on makeup again, shaved my legs. I would be ok. Then my mind finally recognized reality: Hannah would not be coming back. My month of agony wasn't a penance that would allow her to return. In fact, her death wasn't personal. She didn't die as a punishment for me - if so, how to explain the pain everyone else felt? I couldn't find any reason to explain her death. And I began to live in a new world. An irrational world with no explanations, no answers and no peace. When Hannah had been alive, even if we were in a fight, we would still say we loved each other before we went to bed or got off the phone or said goodbye. We knew from losing Papa suddenly that you don't always get a second chance to say something, and that pride was no reason to spend a lifetime regretting something. And now the precious treasure I thanked God for in every Amidah was gone.
I wish I had some brilliant understanding of Hannah's life and death. Unfortunately what I feel more than anything is a vast desert around me, with mirages of happiness that don't seem meant for me. And the bubbly, no-nonsense girl who wowed everyone with her varied spectrum of talents, interests, wisdom and beauty? She's a story, a word that makes normal people hush in discomfort. In an instant, the Hannah who cultivated joy and decisiveness became a reason for sadness and questioning.
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7 comments:
It's hard to comment without having been through what you have. But I also know that you don't want the rest of us to just be silent.
I'm very grateful that you can express the dark feelings and doubts you feel, as well as the happiness in your life. It shows your fearlessness and honesty.
I think pat answers, platitudes, and even poetic theologies fall short in the face of intensely painful events.
I'm blessed not to have lost a close family member. But my life has been emotionally painful at times, enough to make me ask some of these questions.
For me, suffering simply is. Attempts to explain it, or its uneven distribution among the human race, are, in my experience, attempts to explain it away. As if just the right rationalization, expressed poetically enough, would magically lift the pain away.
We can ameliorate pain - emotional or physical - sometimes. And doing so for ourselves, and others, when we can, makes life livable.
But despite the best efforts, suffering - physical, emotional, psychic - sometimes persists as a simple, bare fact. As, when we lose someone we love.
Some say that through spiritual practices it's possible to achieve a true peace with suffering, in which the great "Why?" no longer troubles. But even those people don't say that it's easy. Usually the prerequisite is held to be years and years of dedication to a rigorous spiritual path, without even a guarantee of success.
So even if one believes those accounts, it's still essential to know how to live, in the presence of the unanswered question.
For whatever it's worth, the only answer I've found is to make an active choice, to live a meaningful life in the face of this mystery.
It took me time to even find that answer and I'm still exploring how to put it into practice. Some ways I do that is to pursue the paths that nourish my sense of meaning.
Some of the ways I do that (and that you do as well):
* Knowing what awakens my joy and enthusiasm
* Caring well for myself
* Giving to and connecting with others
I hope knowing that your life is a blessing to me, and many, many others - and that we're grateful for your vitality, creativity, and love - is some warmth in the places that hurt.
Love, Joe
Hannah was a beautiful woman. I admire your sharing of your struggle and your strength. You'll be in my thoughts.
Rebecca, the images that you offer (Hannah's puffy coat and the 96th street platform) animate your grief beautifully if there is such a thing. As someone who didn't know Hannah (or you then) its nice to be let into this gaping dark hole of your life.
May you still have support and the space to process. Love, Amelie
Hi Rebecca,
I appreciate reading your thoughts about Hannah at this time. I remember being so worried about you when she died, and not knowing how to respond - which is not unusual I guess.
I know what you mean about the pain not really diminishing, when I think about Ben. Recently I watched my students lose a friend, Gummi, to cancer. Many of them are struggling with the aftermath, that I know will also color their lives for a very long time. I know because it reminds me of my own loss which still wells up from time to time.
And then I look at my daughter, and it is so surreal. I love her so much it hurts inside. I know I would do anything for her.
I can't imagine your pain in losing Hannah from your daily life and I only hope that her memory will be for a blessing for you.
Love- Hayley
Rebecca, please accept my deepest condolences on this occasion. I can't imagine what it must have been like to lose Hannah.
Thank you for sharing these beautiful and profound reflections. You express a desire for greater understanding of these events, but I think you understand far more than you realize. Your wisdom and strength are truly amazing.
Love,
David
Hi Rebecca,
I can't write as beautifully as everyone else, but I want to say that your expression has given way to Hannah being an inspiration. I didn't know her well, though the more I learn of hear, the more I remember how wonderful she was to a person she barely knew.
Now, I relive moments of Hadar and Limmud and infuse what you and others have said of her into my memories. To me she is an inspiration for true menschlachkite.
I would like to resound what Joe said and encourage you pursue paths nourish your sense of meaning.
L'shalom,
Shalom
Rebecca, Thank you so much for sharing what are such powerful and intense emotions. I feel so proud of how you express yourself- and how you honor and cherish Hannah's memory in so many things you do every day. I wish I could give you a big hug right now.
With much love,
Jenny
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