I went to the cemetery. It’s Rosh Chodesh Nissan. We’re not supposed to go during Nissan. We don’t get to go on the final day of shloshim.
My mother is buried under that patch of ground. She is in a box. I don’t even know which way she is facing. Is her head up or down. Where are her feet. Her head. Has she started decomposing.
It’s weird to stand there. I want to feel sad. I don’t understand how we’ve gotten here. Why has life brought us here. I don’t understand. The ground is sunken in over her box. The ground has settled. The marker at the foot of her grave has an incorrect date. In English and in Hebrew. How can they get such an important date wrong.
My father cries when he reads tehillim out loud. Only then can I start feeling sad. Do the tears come. It hurts that she’s gone. I feel guilt that I have wished her dead for so many years.
I miss visiting her. Holding her hand. Watching tv. Listening to music together. I miss her faces. I miss taking her outside and tanning in the park. I miss seeing her face so excited when I walk in the room. Throwing her hands up in excitement. I miss her knowing my name.
I feel this constant guilt. And I wonder why I am not feeling sad. Why it’s so hard to cry. Why I mostly feel nothing. Empty. Walking around in a haze.
I miss listening to music. The quiet is so hard. I need music to help me feel. It’s been twenty days without my mother. And everything feels so different. It feels so much harder to connect to my family.
Feels so much harder to connect in general. Why am I so hard on myself. Why is there no clear way to deal with all of this.
Twenty whole days without my mother. And I feel like I wasted all that time she was alive. I could have made the most of it. Instead I complained. I was bitter. I should have gotten to know her. Outside of the illnesses. I shouldn't have blamed her. I should have understood.
And now it's too late. She's gone. She's in that grave. In that sunken in ground. With a marker that has the wrong date. And I am here in the silence. Trying to feel.