Family Affair
They say that time is a funny thing, and that a single moment can truly change one’s life forever. No truer words have ever been said.
I have always believed in the importance of being honest and transparent, not just with others, but with one’s self as well, regardless of the outcome. With that said, I’m going to come clean and say that a lot of what you are about to read comes from thoughts and feelings I have jotted down over the past year. Some of these thoughts have already been shared, either in conversation or on a social media platform. The truth of the matter is I’ve procrastinated putting all these thoughts together into one cohesive piece because by doing so, I’m left with no other choice but to admit out loud that a year has passed since my mom passed away.
At times it has felt like more than a year has gone by, and then there are times where something would happen, and it feels like just yesterday. For example, I have found myself over the last 3-4 weeks saying things like “A year ago today was the last time…,” or even looking in my closet and remembering that I wore a specific article of clothing the last time I saw my mother or the day she passed. And as if processing this loss weren’t enough, throw the Jewish customs of mourning on top of that, and it can become a lot harder to navigate.
Let me try to briefly explain: Growing up in a Jewish home, you learn from an early age that there are laws and customs for just about everything, including when it comes to death. For most relatives, there is a 30-day period of mourning (including the initial 7 days of Shiva, which I briefly spoke about in my blog Every Road Leads Back/For Good) where people don’t participate in social events or parties, and typically don’t do things like buy new clothing or cut their hair. They also go to temple every day and recite a prayer during services. But with the death of a parent, that mourning period extends to a full year, and the prayer recited is said every day for 11 of the 12 months, and then one final time on the Hebrew anniversary of the death, which is known as the Yahrzeit.
But wait, because there’s more. Being who she was, my mother couldn’t just pass away during a typical Hebrew year like a normal person. Instead, she passed during a Jewish leap year, which happens 7 times in a 19-year cycle, and has its own set of rules.
In an attempt at breaking this down as simply as possible, here’s a short explanation. Much like the events on the commonly used Gregorian calendar, Jewish events happen on the same date every year. For example, the same way New Years is January 1 every year, the Jewish new year, called Rosh Hashanah, falls on 1 Tishri every year. And if you ever noticed that Rosh Hashanah is sometimes at the end of August and other times at the end of September/beginning of October, or somewhere in between the two, the Jewish leap year would be the reason for that. Unlike the Gregorian calendar that follows the cycle of the sun and adds a single day in February every few years, the Hebrew calendar follows the moon cycle and adds a whole month during their leap years. By adding that month every so often, balance is restored to the Hebrew calendar.
I’m sure you’re wondering what all of this has to do with my mother’s passing, so I’m going to land this plane as quickly as possible. During a Jewish leap year, there are 13 months instead of the normal 12, and the rules for mourning a parent change with the extra month. Whereas July 28 will always be the Gregorian date of her death and 19 Av will always be the Hebrew date of death, or Yahrzeit, the year of mourning, which normally ends on the Yahrzeit date, now ends a month earlier. So, in essence, my family had 3 separate dates to observe this summer thanks to the leap year: the date that the period of mourning ended, the English anniversary of her passing and the Hebrew date of death, none of which fell on the same calendar date.
I guess that really wasn’t a brief explanation, but I digress…
So much has happened over the last 12 months. So many feelings, events, conversations, thoughts and revelations along the way. In the name of full disclosure, I cannot wholeheartedly say that I miss my mom in an everyday sort of fashion. Of course, I’m not happy that she’s gone, because no matter what, she was still my mother. But at the same time, we hadn’t been in each other’s lives for quite a while.
I have spent the last year really processing and coming to terms with all that went down between us, especially those last 6/7 years of zero communication, and for a brief period, I became very angry with her. So much time was wasted on unnecessary drama, and I missed out on a lot of opportunities to really get to know my family, especially my 11 nieces and nephews. And concurrently, they barely know me. It’s also been tough on me knowing that although I have attended each of my sibling’s weddings, none of them were at mine. They missed a major milestone in my life because of stupid nonsense, and without the prospect of children in my future, there really aren’t many other chances to celebrate a major life moment with me, short of turning a certain age (50, 75, etc.).
The fact that I will never be given the opportunity to hash out my grievances with her, whether that be through a simple conversation, or even a knock-down, drag out housewives’ style showdown made me even angrier, to be honest. But during a conversation with one of my aunts, who was talking to me about her own issues with my mom, something just clicked. I realized that without her here, I was actually battling a ghost, and in some crazy messed up way, I “won” the fight because I’m the one that survived. So, what was the point of living in a state of anger for something that can’t be argued or changed anymore?
Through much introspection, I realized that the past was holding way too much real estate in my head. I decided in that moment that, to move forward, and for my own sanity, I needed to make the conscious effort of making peace with the situation and forgive my mother for her part in the deterioration of our relationship.
It has definitely not been easy, and I still have a fleeting moment here and there, but overall, my anger has dissipated, and I have chosen instead to focus more on the good memories I have of my mom and of growing up. Over the last year, there have been so many random moments that either I hadn’t thought about for decades, or were just between the two of us, that would suddenly pop in my head and instantly make me smile. I’m not gonna lie; as upset as I was, and as upset as I always will be, with the things that happened between us, it’s actually kinda nice to just look back and reminisce.
To be honest, this shift in thinking also really helped me navigate the Jewish year of mourning. As I mentioned earlier, there are many customs that are followed during this period, including not participating in social events or parties, buying new clothing, cutting your hair, and saying a daily prayer in temple. Not being the most religious person out there, I grappled with how to handle the last year. I wanted to be as respectful as possible to my mom and the situation, but at the same time, stay authentic to who my mom was TO ME.
With that said, I felt that strictly following the customs I grew up with would have been disingenuous. Not to keep beating a dead horse (no pun intended), but she and I were not in contact for the last 6/7 years of her life. On top of that, my mother was not a religious person herself, and I believe she would have been the first one to have said “what are you doing?” Don’t get me wrong; I wasn’t partying it up every night and celebrating her death or anything like that. I did buy new clothing and buzz my hair, but when it came to social gatherings, I was extremely selective with what I would allow myself to do.
Case in point: two weeks ago, my husband and I got to experience the 2022 Mixtape Tour, featuring New Kids on the Block, Salt-n-Pepa, En Vogue and Rick Astley. Now if you knew my mother, you know how much she loved music, and with the exception of Luther Vandross, Rick Astley happens to have been one of her favorite artists. In fact, back in the summer of 1989, she and I went to see him, along with another new artist named Martika, at the then-titled Garden State Arts Center.
The Mixtape Tour was absolutely phenomenal, but had Rick Astley not been there, I would never have gone. Just to put things into context, this was the 3rd or 4th year that they held this show, and other than New Kids on the Block, the other participating artists have changed from year to year. So, when they announced this year’s tour and said that, out of the millions of artists on this planet, Rick Astley was part of the lineup, there was absolutely no way I couldn’t go. And even with moments where I cried and wished she were there letting out one of her high-pitched screams of excitement, it ended up being a great evening and the perfect way I could have both remembered and celebrated my mom.
As hard as this past year has been, one of the greatest things to come out of it was the reconnecting with my siblings. We still have our group chat going, and although we don’t all speak every single day, we are always checking in with one another. I got the opportunity to visit my sister in Minnesota (I’ll be heading out there again in a few weeks), and celebrated Thanksgiving with my two brothers for the first time in years. I have even taken over the role of family birthday/anniversary announcer.
I’ll be honest: I felt very trepidatious when we started speaking again a year ago. There was a definite concern, on my part, that we would just naturally fall back into old habits, and I feared that I would always be seen as Jack, the person they grew up with. For a while, I was worried that they wouldn’t want to get to know me as I am now or see that I had lived this whole other life these last few years.
Shortly after my mother’s passing, there was a part of me that also felt less than or inferior to them. Just knowing how proud my mom was of each of my siblings, and that she had erased all references of me from her life in the end really messed with my mind. Around Thanksgiving, I even started to go down this rabbit hole of wondering whether I was only around again as a stand-in, because she wasn’t here anymore, and questioned if everyone would even be speaking to me at all, had she lived.
Let me be very clear that none of this came from any of my siblings. This was purely my past demons resurfacing. But instead of letting those feelings fester and repeating old patterns, I decided to break the cycle and speak with my siblings about how I was feeling. They listened to what I had to say and talked me down from that ledge. And more importantly, never for a moment did I feel judged, which was how I always felt around them growing up. In the end, talking to them was the best thing I could have ever done, and I’m really glad to admit that I was wrong for feeling the way I did.
I cannot even begin to tell you how it feels to have my siblings back in my life, how much I enjoy having real conversations with them and getting to know them now as adults. It also feels great to be so graciously welcomed back into the fold, and having them show an interest in me and my life. I actually enjoy being their big brother, getting the opportunity to impart my wisdom and experience whenever wanted, and having their backs while knowing that they also have mine.
On the morning of July 28, 2021, my brothers and I were on a 4-way call with our sister as she sat by our mom’s side in her hospital room, on what would be her final day. Shortly before she passed, we promised her that we would always be there for each other. I’m elated to say that we have kept our word, and I hope that our mother is somewhere smiling down on us.
As I look back on this last year, I definitely could not have made it through without my brothers and sister. That’s not to take away from anyone else, but the four of us have 34 years of history between us and went through this crazy thing together. We lost someone who played a very important role in our lives, and despite any past grievances, only the four of us understand what the other is going through.
We have this crazy connection where I can just look at Harrison and say something stupid like “bicycle,” and only he and I are in on the joke. Or have Shari walk out of a kitchen and say “elbow grease,” instantly making us crack up. Or how just seeing the word “blush” conjures up belly laughs for me and Hymie. Or just texting the word “mom” to any of them and knowing we’re all in that moment together.
Over the last year, I have come to not only value their opinions, but I have so much love and respect for them. Nobody can make me angry, or smile, or laugh, or cry quite the way that they do, not even my husband. They each bring something important and needed to my life, and I have realized that without the three of them, a part of me would be missing.
There’s something to be said about the bond of siblings. In a single word, it’s family.