I’m learning to live with loss, but not without faith

IT

was Rosh Chodesh Elul, and I stood under the wide blue sky with the ancient stones of the Kosel cool beneath my palms despite the heat of the day. My daughters were on either side of me, and even from here, I knew my boys were running circles around my husband on the other side of the mechitzah.

It was just hours before the school year would start, and we took this trip to imbue the new year with holiness and start our 40 days of teshuvah with meaningful conversation with Hashem.

And really, I tried. I reached deep into my soul and tried to ask Him for what I really need: acceptance. Clarity. Menuchah for my ravaged body and exhausted mind.

Instead, I found myself standing physically in today while my whole heart was located an entire year back. Back to a time when I felt at peace with where I was in life, blissfully clueless to what was coming.

A year ago, things were normal. Wife to best guy in the world, the mother of five perfect children, living the life in the Holy Land. I felt fulfilled by my career, we’d just moved into our own home, and were settled in our community. That day, my mouth was brimming with praise and thanks. I was humbled and grateful for every gift Hashem had bestowed upon me and my family; nothing was taken for granted.

Except for maybe health.

When you’re 30 and young and strong, you don’t think about not being healthy. You scoff in the face of every flu that comes your way. You push past every sniffle and sore throat and get things done. You’re a mother, after all. You don’t even consider the possibility that serious illness could be lurking around the corner.

But sometimes it is. It was for me. And now, nearing a year later, I’m still in the habit of looking over my shoulder and remembering the person I was before. Wishing I was still her. Knowing I never will be again. Trying to be okay with that.

Toward the end of Tzom Gedalyah last year, I went to bed early with a migraine and a touch of dizziness and a weird little smudge in my left eye. After suffering a bout of severe and debilitating vertigo right before Tishah B’Av that couldn’t be helped no matter what we tried, I was terrified at the prospect of another round. I quickly made dinner for the kids and put myself to sleep. It wasn’t until 3 a.m., when I got up for my crying baby that I realized I couldn’t see.