10

Every year has been difficult in its own way. Every year included a milestone, an event or a random Tuesday where I've reached for the phone to dial mama. There was the first year at the end of which I found out I was pregnant with Leor. There were Year 3 and there was 5. There was me turning 32, the age at which my mom had at me and the age at which, I lost my job, was diagnosed with cancer and somewhat found my shaky voice. Each year has had its often more than fair share of good - Leor and Zack were born (as were many of their friends and cousins), I've gotten great jobs, I've made many memories with old and new friends, to name a few. Yet, I've been dreading today for months and planning the day in my head for probably the last year.

The truth is, it's another day where the sun sets and rises and most of us are grateful for another day. It's a day like any other for most. I wish I wasn't as sentimental. I wish dates didn't matter to me. I wish my eyes didn't well up at the thought of it. I don't miss my mom more today than I did yesterday or than I will tomorrow. It's another day for people that knew me since the day I was born, that celebrated every birthday and every milestone until I turned twenty five. With my mom's passing, people have passed me by. I became a reminder - a reminder of who my mom was, what she stood for and how fragile life is. It took a long time for me to forgive them. Some days, I still get angry because I didn't die, because I still celebrate my birthday and plan to for a long, long time. I also know that pain isn't a constant. I know that remembering a person can come about while picking out beets at a farmer's market, because my mom asked me to buy veggies on my trip to Poconos 10 years ago so that she can teach me to make borsch. I know that memories can come flooding in in the midst of an unrelated argument or while brushing teeth. I know that people remember. I wish they understood my need to hear it.

The last 10 years of my life have been filled with both laughter and tears. They've been filled with many happy moments and occasions and many spent nights crying over. During this time, I became a mother, a role that leads me to question my every move and firmly believe that I'm not here to teach my children. They are here to teach me. I wonder if mama thought so too. I wonder what I taught her about herself. There are so many questions I'd love to ask her, not only about being a mom, but about being a human. My mom was an amazing human. She was kind and she was patient. She had the unique ability to listen to everyone's problems without ever sharing her own. She had a book recommendation and a quote or anecdote for every occasion. She also always knew just the gift to buy even as the world we live in became more materialistic and less sentimental. She knew how to live life. Whether it meant at 17 being a Jewish girl in the Ukraine and leaving her single mom alone to go to study in the prominent Saint-Petersburg State University of Culture and Arts via Chelyabinsk or going to see every theatrical performance of interest despite many health limitations and often having nobody to go with. My mom wasn't an extraordinary cook, but everything she cooked was so full of love that it translated in taste. Her signature was whipping up a cake as friends were on the way. Our house always smelled like cake and was always full with guests, even when I couldn't stay up past my bedtime.

My mom loved people. She loved good food and good books. She loved the arts. She loved celebrating. She loved to travel even though she didn't get to do very much of it. She loved life and above all she loved me. For 25 years of my life I didn't have to share that kind of obsessive and consuming love with anyone. And for the last 10 I've had to learn to live without it. I don't think that I will ever stop learning. I'm okay most days and other days, I'm consumed by it because my mom set the bar very high. I've recently started to wonder at what age do we stop idolizing our parents and start to see them as flawed humans. Everyone I've discussed this with concluded, "around adolescence." I don't know that I can ever stop idolizing my mom. She was human, but in so many ways she was superhuman. My virgo perfectionist (i.e. obsessive compulsive) personality strives for those same superhuman qualities and falls so completely short of them. I don't want my children to idolize me. I want them to know me as a flawed human. I hope to be around long enough to explain to them why and more so for them to learn it for themselves.

I digress. People react differently to death. Most of us don't know what to say beyond the basic condolences, paying respects at a funeral or at a shiva call. We become awkward because we are afraid of saying too much or not saying enough. Maybe we don't say anything at all and then too much time passes and it becomes that much more awkward to reach out to say, "hey, I'm thinking of you." I personally wish I had the courage to do it more often. I wish people in my life had the courage to tell me what my mom meant to them or when they think of her while food shopping, watching a movie or seeing yet another picture I post on facebook. I think that as humans, we would all like to make an impact while leading meaningful lives. The depth and breadth of our impact is as individual as each of us. Few of us get to revolutionize the world, but many of us impact lives, one child at a time.