In my garden today, the dying sunflowers painfully reminded me of my friend Miriam and the gold that is fading in front of me echoes that larger loss.
Odysseus can’t return unchanged to his wife Penelope after so many years trying to get back to what he left. The scars of battle and the trauma of his travels have forever changed him.
She was a beacon for energy, a conduit that didn’t stop until, in one monstrous moment, God took her away. Suddenly and sharply.
It’s interesting what we attach ourselves to and the meaning we ascribe to objects that somehow, over years, become important not in functionality but just in being.
If we can find commonality in a lightsaber, a dragon, or a sorting hat, maybe, for that one moment, we can forget our differences.
No matter how many times I’ve watched someone break a glass and yell, “Mazal Tov!” nothing could prepare me for making a wedding for my own child.
The anniversaries in my life are a mix of celebrations and contemplations battling against each other for days on the calendar that I count down towards in both expectation and apprehension.
I don’t think I ever fully realized the scope of this country I live in, the grandeur of the spacious skies and purple mountain majesties that were only mindlessly sung in a song or displayed on my 13″ laptop screen.