Unpacking Life and Death

My father, passed away on July 1st. Tonight marks "Shloshim" which means “the thirtieth day from burial.” Traditionally families gather together on the eve of Shloshim to support each other, give charity in the merit of the deceased and have a meal together. Tonight my daughter is hosting a "challah bake" a beautiful evening of women making challah and praying together in the merit of my parents, her grandparents, OBM, Simcha David ben Moshe Aaron and Bracha Leah bat Anne. I know it's going to be a sweet and meaningful evening and I am going to go but part of me wants to stay home with a blanket over my head. I’ve wanted to hide for much of these past thirty days. I haven’t wanted to see anyone or talk much. So much for me to unpack. I want to share some with you...

My dad made a great life for himself. He broke his family's mold for creating talented yet starving artists and became an optometrist. My dad was Dr. Pearl and I spent many years of my life working with him in his office. I was very proud of him. I struggled with him too. He worked in the profession he loved until late in his life, he traveled the world and played tennis. When you asked him how he was, he always said "wonderful." And he remained as such until shortly before he died at ninety-four. He lived a long and happy life.

My mother killed herself when she was forty-eight. Not a long and happy life. My sister and I were in Rome on a long awaited backpacking trip through Europe when we got the horrible news that our mother was dead. We flew home to a home that would never be the same.

I've understood for many years now that my mom had severe struggles with which she couldn't cope. But I grew up with her rollercoaster of emotions. It was "normal." I knew that no matter how depressed she got, she would eventually feel “better” and life would carry on until depression incapacitated her again. This scary yet predictable cycle was all I knew. Never did I think for even one second that she would commit suicide and leave me and my siblings without our mother. It was unimaginable. But the unimaginable became my reality, our reality. I struggled, and still struggle, with my shock, grief and anguish of losing my sweet mom.

For many years following my mom's death, I wished that I had gone through a structured mouring process to help me cope with my loss. There is so much wisdom in our guidelines for how to approach life just after a loved one's death, the first week, the first thirty days and the first year. The Jewish approach to mourning is organized and wise. It is a gift of time you can surrender to. It is a time when you are meant to allow yourself to talk, to be silent, to unpack thoughts and feelings and memories about your relationship with that person.

In trying to correct something from my past, when my dad died, I asked my wise, funny, learned Rabbi if I could sit shiva for both of my parents at the same time. He explained that when two people are married, their souls become one. Despite their turbulent marriage, I knew my parents had a deep love for each other and it felt right to me to honor them together. In honor of my parents, I tore a piece of my clothing at my dad's burial and I wore my mourning clothes all week. In honor of my parents, I sat on a chair lower than others to show I was in mourning. In honor of my parents, I didn't look at myself in a mirror for that week. Mirrors were covered. It was not a time of thoughts about my appearance. It was a time of connecting to souls. And that I did my best to do.

I was blessed to have been welcomed to stay at the home of my daughter, son-in-law and granddaughters that week. I'm grateful for the love and support of all of my children and grandchildren. I'm grateful for every person who visited me, listened to my stories about my parents and shared memories with me too. We laughed and we cried. Sharing those stories was unpacking. Laughing and crying was unpacking. It was hard. Some days, I wanted to run out of the house and drive away in my car. Some times I didn’t want to talk with anyone. I wanted to be alone. I wanted to get away from my own thoughts about things that were unresolved, words left unspoken. It was all unpacking.

At the end of the week, it was time to "get up" and take a walk. Literally. I got up and walked with my granddaughter around the block. It felt weird to be out. Life doesn't stop and soon it was time for my siblings and I to go to our father’s home to look at his family photos and books, his clothing and belongings. Then we needed to make decisions about how to distribute and what to keep or not keep. What should we donate? What was trash? It's a lot of decisons with everyone having their own timing and ways of coping. I'm proud of myself and my siblings for doing a very kind job of cleaning out our dad's place. It's a hard process.

It's a very familiar process for me. Since founding Pearl Concierge Services sixteen years ago, I’ve assisted many clients with these making their way through the same overwhelming, emotional and unavoidable tasks that my siblings and I went through at our dad's house. No matter how many times I do it, it is always poignant to me to be a part of someone’s family as they try to make their way through their loss of a loved one as well as letting go (or not letting go) of the loved one's belongings. They share stories with me. We laugh and we cry. I feel a part of their sorrows and their joys. I am always honored to be a part of their unpacking and making space for the beautiful memories of their loved ones and their own future ahead.