originally published Feb. 24, 2012. Normally, I do not include the comment threads when I copy old posts. For personal reasons, I want to keep this one. Some comments are missing from people who closed their OS accounts and so their comments disappeared. If I remember correctly, that would have included Rw005g, rwnutjob, and Seer. 

The friend alluded to is Lezlie. This was my first post following the death of my son Jonah, aged 17, on January 8, 2012. There are a number of other posts that I think are on Our Salon about him or being his father, starting with one called "18." The rest of the titles all start with "Tales of J:" 


On the afternoon of Sunday, January 8, I sent a PM to a few people entitled
“My Absence, Amended.”     It read:

The following has nothing to do with my absence so far:

This morning, my teenaged son unexpectedly passed away. 

Under the circumstances, my absence may be extended.

Thank you,


I had a lot of long conversations with a few friends on PM in the next couple of weeks. Frankly, a lot of those conversations had overlapping content because, of course, the same things were on my mind as I spoke to different people. After this PM to Lezlie, aka L in the Southeast, she suggested that when the time came I base a post on it. I’d forgotten that suggestion. I had drafted a post, didn’t like it, came back to my PM’s and came across this one, at which point I realized the best thing might be to just post it as is. I was considering asking her permission; then I came across her reply containing the suggestion and that sealed it. This PM was written Jan. 18. The initial “Thank you” is for her checking up on me. She was far from alone in that respect and I am grateful for the support I received and continue to receive. (A tree grows in Tidewater.) 

The text is unedited except that sometimes in PM’s I sign off with my real name, which I did in this case. The quote that follows the sign-off came from my drafted and ultimately rejected post – that part I kept. What follows that quote is newer.

Thank you.

I appreciate being checked on. A couple from OS do, mainly women. I needed a different sort of help from someone else who offered on OS, some technical advice of a sort, and got it today in a phone conversation. It's the second phone conversation I've ever had with someone on OS. Not the same person as the first one was with.

Shiva, the initial mourning period, ended last night. Blew out the big candle. Don't have to find ten Jewish adults every day for a quorum (minyan) for the mourning prayer (mourners' Kaddish) now, once a week is fine. That the candle was burning lower bothered me in midweek but not by the time it came time to blow it out. I get that it doesn't really signify all that much. 

People have brought tons of food. A lot of people have been supportive in a lot of ways. More than I expected. Particularly the guys I play with and their wives. 

Not as sad as I expected in general. Miss the kid but don't miss his CP. Disoriented, though. 

Now new details. Death certificates. Dealing with insurance issues. Uy.

We don't, as Jews, do flowers, but some still come. My daughter loves them. I'm glad not too many, though. 

I can talk about the death easily without it hurting, including recounting the details. I can't, however, watch the music video without it hurting a lot. 

I've been sort of emotionally detached all my life. Sometimes it helps. Sometimes it just keeps me from cutting loose. Now it's probably more of a positive than a negative. I wouldn't exactly be elated at the moment anyway, but I probably would be more devastated. 

It's been amazing me how many people are affected by this death and how heavily. People cry who didn't know him very well; some cry who didn't know him at all but their spouses knew him a little. There's something about this that reaches people. I'm not completely sure I get it. My wife theorizes that it has to do with our confronting two fears so many parents have: the fear of having a kid with a disability and the fear of losing a child. Done both now. As I remarked to God a day or two after this happened: I'd like the testing to stop now, please. 

I hear a lot about what good parents we were to him, me in particular because I handled his physical needs and my helping him was so visible. A Christian husband of a Jewish woman who works at Temple (the husband also works there, as a security guard - he has Secret Service experience) asked me when I'd be up for Sainthood. I said We don't do that. He goes Yeah, you'd have to go up the street. (Catholic church there.) I have two reactions to all that stuff:

1. I've heard so many times "I couldn't do what you do." (Am I repeating myself? I don't know who I've said what to over the last week or so.) Really? If you had a kid with a severe disability who could communicate with you, what do you think you'd do? My guess is that we're all selling ourselves short, they in terms of their capabilities and me in terms of I may still be doing this to an unusual extent (or at least did until the Eighth). 

2. My wife said something interesting to me. She said "they don't know the half of it." She's right. It wasn't easier than it looked, it was actually harder, in part because they didn't see the emotionally difficult stuff and in part because it didn't stop for as long as he was awake. Harder, but I think more generally possible than they assume. 

I get so much sympathy that sometimes I feel a little like an imposter but, really, I did lose my son, and my life did revolve largely around him, and I did love him intensely. But I don't feel like screaming all the time. The manifestations of this are curious. 

Again, sorry if I repeat myself here. I might be, I might not. I don't know. Mostly cerebral palsy was a gigantic negative. (A quick note here: In case you're unfamiliar with CP, it's not a disease and it's not progressive, it's basically a brain injury or lack of oxygen in utero, during birth, or immediately afterward. Think James Brady in utero.) There were a couple of positive aspects it brought my life, and I'm not including the parking privileges. One is that I got to see the good side of a lot of people, which isn't what I expected when we first figured out what was going on with him. I was taunted a lot as a kid, but I lived in greater New York where that was par for the course. I expected it to happen to him and it hardly ever did. People were protective. But that's not the big one.

The big one was the physical relationship. When you have a little boy, you pick him up, you hug him, you kiss him, you tell him you love him, and he does all those things to you. Then he gets older and all that goes out the window. Except it didn't. I picked him up several times a day, so I held him. I wasn't self-conscious about kissing him, telling him I loved him, anything like that, and he wasn't self-conscious about it either. He'd ask me for a hug if he wanted one. He was very demonstrative. That really was a plus. Not all the physical contact was fun; fighting the spasticity while getting him into a shirt or jacket could be unbelievably frustrating, sometimes resulting in ripped seams. There was a lot of that stuff. But some was. 

Most of the rest involved the typical plusses and minuses of raising a kid. Most of it. There was also the fact that he was constantly around adults, so he was way more comfortable with them than with peers, with whom his interactions were mostly very limited and mostly supervised by default. That was both frustrating and safe because we knew he wasn't getting into trouble we didn't know about. We always knew. 

CP was strange in another way no one takes into account:

It's not only a difference in abilities, it's also a resultant difference in experiences. This showed up in all sorts of weird ways. How do you explain Slippery to a kid who's never slipped? or slush to a kid who's never walked through it? There's a probability exercise in math class about some girl throwing ten paper planes around a room and tracking where they land, but this makes no sense to a kid who's never thrown a paper plane and so who doesn't understand that they all land in different places because of air currents. Or one of the weirdest of all: The day a teacher came up with a lighthearted fantasy assignment for the class: Imagine what it would be like to be left home alone for a week. Jonah turned to his PCA (Personal Care Assistant is what I think it stands for, basically it means aide) and says "I'd be screwed." Oops. Hey, you trying to traumatize my kid?? 

And on and on. Checking in can get you an earful these days.



Oseh shalom bimromav, hu ya’aseh shalom aleinu, v’al kol Yisrael, v’imru Amein.

May the One who causes peace to reign in the high heavens cause peace to reign among us and all Israel and let us say: Amen.

                                                 Last line of the Mourners’ Kaddish


        Also the words to a song sung frequently at services
        (the Hebrew only).
        At ours, the one we attended at a Jewish old age home,
        typically sung as a duet by our service leader
        and Jonah
        with congregational participation
        and me at the piano, where I still am most Fridays,
        next to the space where my kid’s noisy wheelchair used to be,
        clicking intermittently 
        as he drove 
        in fits and starts
        toward the Ark.

Note added much later for reference

I've written a lot of posts about J and about being his father. I keep an index post of these posts as I write them so the links are collected in one place, with brief descriptions. This post is now on the index post. Here's the link to the index:






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I'm sorry for your family's loss Kosh. For your son, "Wakan tanka nici un" (loosely translated "Go with G-d" or "G-d watch over you.")
Thank you for posting this. We who lose our children are bereft. I recently posted a couple of essays/stories etc. about my daughter. It is only now after 15 years that I can write and speak to those questions and expressions of sympathy which inquire how we survive a child's death...The answer is that we all do it differently.
And life is never the same. And in my case there was anger....and finally resolution. Not really. 

The Kaddish says it all. Sometimes I just hum the music. It calms me. Sending you condolences and peace. Shalom
Bless you for your and your family's courage.

You do miss the hugs as they grow older--they get ironic about physical affection after about thirteen or so. Nice that at least you had that comfort.
My condolences, Kosh!
In their way, each child is the remnant of a savior. Conceived in intimacy if not "love," in order to remind us in moments when we are able to see; born to teach us arrival; helpless to teach caregivers how to witness need and fulfill; and finally to carry with them a ticket back to source---a ticket held by all. Precariously. 

A heart-shaped vase with flowers made of music sympathy-love to you, K.S., and to your family.
You have beautifully illustrated both your grief and your relief. I appreciate this look into your life. I wish you and your family peace.
Thank you all, something I expect to be repeating a lot following this post. (As of now, the last comment I see is MHold's.) 

I didn't expect to be posting yet as I still have stuff to do but I didn't want to leave this one alone any longer - too much time is going by. 

Believe it or not, we're still getting condolence cards. I mean as recently as yesterday's mail, and that wasn't a fluke - I don't think we've had even a three or four day period since my son's death on January 8 without at least one card or note, and it's February 24. I would never have expected that. My son affected a lot more people than I realized. I guess I was just too close to see it. For me it was daily life; until we adopted our daughter several years later, it was my only experience with parenthood.
Keri, thank you. Also rwnutjob, because when I made my first comment your comment hadn't appeared yet and I appreciate it a great deal.
I am sorry for your loss.
I am so glad you took my suggestion and posted this, Kosh. It is just as powerful this time as it was the first few times I read it. Regardless of religion or any other cultural differences, the loss of a child is a horrendous loss. We can all learn from your insights and musings, especially because you have gone into the kind of details most wouldn't. My thoughts and prayers continue to be with you and your family.

Thank you

Thank you three times: for your initial support, for your suggestion that I post based on this PM, and for your comment. If I don't go into detail, there's no point in talking about this other than just to announce it. We write to communicate, to give others some insight into who we are, at least when the subjects are personal. Also, my experience in being the parent of a child with a disability is unusual enough that what I say might help readers interact with someone with a disability in a different way - or with parents in my position. 

You never know what you have to offer. I'll give you a strange one:

Jonah often had trouble enunciating. It had to do with motor difficulties associated with CP. He'd say something and, if I didn't understand it, he'd repeat it; if that didn't work, we'd try something called a "repair strategy," like saying the same thing a different way or spelling it. Spelling, however, had its own enunciation difficulties. One day I figured out a way around them:

Guys who speak over broadcast communications, like pilots, have the same clarity problem though it has a different cause. However, they've already developed a solution: the military/airline alphabet. You know, Alpha Bravo Charlie Delta Echo Foxtrot Golf etc. So I looked it up on line and Jonah and I learned it. By and large, it worked. I don't know of anyone else who has used that for people with enunciation issues but now you know it's an available solution. 

I didn't get involved in support groups because every case of CP is different. What that meant in some cases was reinventing the wheel. But that was OK. I managed.
I was aware of this but not the details. I can't imagine what you went through or what you're going through now. I was moved to tears by this and I learned some perspective on living with disability that I've never considered. 

All of my condolences, and best wishes for the future.
I'm glad you posted it.
Thanks for sharing this moving testament, Kosher. Please accept my heartfelt sympathy for you and your wife.
CC, Nick, Matt (the last comment as I write this),

Thank you. I appreciate the support.
I know this pain so very well and my heart goes out to both you and your wife. May your family find peace and a way to move forward. The words are so weak, but I offer them anyway: I am so very sorry.
We're never too big for hugs. Godspeed to you and yours, Kosh.
Thank you. Please don't worry about the words; one of the first lessons I learned from this experience is that language is inadequate for some tasks and this is one of them. I appreciate that you came by.
Belinda, you posted while I was writing my last comment. You're right about hugs. They work better than anything.

I have a whole new respect for Linda Seccospina (I hope I spelled her name right)
It's been nearly a year since my best friend's little girl passed. There are still no words that will cure his broken heart. Still, though, we find some comfort knowing that the 16 years she spent with us were some of the best times, because she was a part of us and when she passed pieces of us went with her.
Sorry about your loss. Just think he is dancing in heaven now.
The toughest job I ever had in my entire life was babysitting a classroom of severely disabled children from grades 1-6. I was lucky compared to you, because I could go home from work. You have my deepest sympathy and understanding.
Thank you for sharing this. Having an honest message like this, from one whose loss is in the present, is a gift to the rest of us. Whether our losses were in the past (some of us) or are in the future (all of us, sooner or later), your words help connect us with the strength of the human spirit and the dark majesty of mortality.
The only real fear in life is losing ones children, you have my sympathy for what its worth.
Thank you for sharing this with us. In this world there are two things which seem to strike our common human cords of existence, birth and death. With birth we are normally happy and drawn to this little creature that is to be a gift to humanity, in death we are normally sad, to lose this person, who was a gift to humanity. I want to express my condolences to you and your wife, your family for the loss of your son. He brought you a complex existence which you managed as a good father could with every inch of love and patience possible. I think that people knew that, and your son too. I think he was a bigger gift to many, a daily reminder of the different pieces that make up our lives, our community, our love for each other. 

I hope that you find good comfort in the caring of your friends and also the ones at OS. We mean the best for you and your wife.
I am so very sorry for your loss. You and your family are in my thoughts.
sending you and your wife good thoughts and mental hugs
Kosher, we have children and we just never know what is in store for us or them.
I have tears of sadness for you and know he is still there with you in some way. Just search for signs;trust me. I was born a Jew but raised an Anglican and no matter how you say it in any language or prayer this comes from my heart:

Lang lebn zolt ir! 

HUGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG and many more to you and your family.
So sorry for your loss. I can only imagine how difficult it must be for you.
So very sorry for your loss. 

As for the grieving process-
Sometimes, we do wade through it at our own pace-kind of numb like. Other times, it washes over us in crushing waves...
When those waves hit, try to focus on breathing deeply. Sometimes we get lost in the grief and forget to breathe. Grief is processed through breathing. 
(Hope that makes sense.)

I'm lying on a bed in a motel room typing this on a computer that was donated to our church youth group, and which I overhauled for use by my “Wednesday “latchkey” group for homework.- Repaired the broken OS that got it donated, sanitized it, installed software to keep them off “inappropriate” sites. 

My wife and I are away from our home, she is attending a social worker meting in the town where my parents lived, and where their house still stands empty 5 years after my mother's death. My 5 brothers and I have never really gotten around to deciding what to do with it. I was going to go over while my wife worked today, and look in on it. Parked in the drive and didn't go in.

Kids fill the present,and the past. It still shocks me every time I look around a room and realize I'm the eldest present. I still feel as if I 'm going to be caught sitting at “the Big People's table” and asked to leave. Never wanted to be “Big People”- too much trouble. Never wanted “little People” depending on me. I don't know if I regret that or not. I know that I can't ever really feel the sort of sorrow that you feel over your son. My most heartfelt condolences.

Yet, that is probably the reason, the “stuff” of our earthly existence. To love and be loved. To feel Joy and pain. 

My niece and her husband are asking “The council of Uncles” if they might rent or buy “granma and grampa's” house when my nephew in law gets out of the Marines this spring. We've been kind of praying for that sort of thing to happen, God knows we had no other good solution in mind. Life is funny, but it's what we've got .Remember and cherish the past, knowing that when it's over, you and your son will have things to reminisce about “in the locker room”. God bless and keep you and yours
Sorry to read this, but also glad you can be okay to release him from his suffering. Few of us would sign up for a life raising a child with profound disabilities, yet resilience and courage are not born in what we think we can do- but what we manage to do when there is no choice. Sending you some peace, and support for the fond memories of fatherhood to stay with you when the sorrows of CP begin to fade.
It is Friday here ... and I am thinking of you ... at your piano ...
Thank you all for coming. 

Yes, that was home. There was, however, only one of him, and being a parent meant that with more work came more gratification. 

I got a letter wrong. Sorry. But thank you, particularly for the hug. 
As I said in an earlier comment (the one in which I misspelled your last name), I now understand about hugs in a way I didn't before. I learned from this that there are some functions language isn't equpped to handle; this is one of them. However, hugs are. 

Just another AJ,
Thanks for the advice about breathing. For reasons I don't exactly understand, this hasn't completely knocked me over, at least not yet. It might still and, if and when it does, I'll breathe.

Interesting that you should say that about tables. What my son gave me, and I was nearly forty when he was born, is my adulthood. I felt like an overgrown kid until I had one. (I'm still not the most mature person on the planet, but adulthood only goes so far.) I have always been grateful for that.

Oryoki Bowl,
You're right about necessity vs. choice. I've known people who have chosen such a thing through adoption but I wasn't one of those. My wife and I learned that we could handle it, which isn't something we'd necessarily have guessed. You can handle more than you think. Really.

I'm due at that piano in about 45 minutes, though this will be a weekend with a lot of playing. I'm in two bands here, one plays rock'n'roll and the other klezmer, and the guitar player in the klezmer band fronts and runs the rock band. His daughter has her Bat Mitzvah tomorrow morning so between tonight's service, tomorrow morning's bigger service and ceremony, and tomorrow night's party, I'm playing a lot with both bands. 

freak, Karen, Jack, Sheila, Froggy, Julie, EotS,
Thank you.
Oh, Kosh. What a beautiful piece of introspective wisdom, presented with the utmost honesty and clarity. You honor us by sharing these reflections.

You know what I feel in my heart. 

And the last ten lines of your post: poetry. It's not only a precise and tender literal description, but also a stunning metaphor for what we all do, side by side, our whole selves stuttering on toward home.

I am glad to you are coming through this. 

So glad you shared your story. I know some but not all of what you're experiencing including this: "I couldn't do what you do." I know it's just words but you want to reply "well what's the alternative?" Your love and devotion for Jonah is echoed in every word here.
Carry on, my friend. Read what you wrote some time hence and you will see the depth of the grief that isn't apparent to you now. This write is so unlike your usual, calm, measured prose, so incandescent. No words suffice, and often sympathy does embarrass. Empathy is better. I feel your pain but I know I can't share it.
Coming through your trial by ordeal with even more wisdom and humanity is large proof of a Higher Being. Shabbat shalom.
This was a brave, honest post. I can tell you are a brave man. May I too add my heartfelt sympathy for your loss. Shalom.
I have nothing wise or profound for you, just a whole lot of sorrow and sympathy. I never suspected something was wrong, for some reason I thought you were absent for business reasons. Now I wish you had been.

I wouldn't be surprised if this question of hugs takes on greater meaning if your sorrow takes the form of bathing in the tactile memory of Jonah. Your relationship had so much more touching than most of ours with our children. I hope that memory comforts you.

I love your spelling workaround of the enunciation problem. At first I hoped I'd be able to use it with my disabled sister who has enunciation problems. Sadly, she can't really spell.
I hope by sharing this deep loss you find your walk through grief one of companionship. So sorry...
May he rest in peace. My husband lost a son and he has trouble communicating the hurt still. It has gotten easier as the years pass. I wish you healing and comfort.
Midwest Muse, David,
Thank you and sorry I missed you on the last round. I hope I don't miss anyone else.

Thank you again. (I hope you noticed that you're thanked in the post.) 

Thank you

That's how it works, and thanks

That's one of the most comforting things anyone's said to me so far. I'm glad you see it and I hope I will. As to why it isn't measured, it not only isn't mostly analytic, it's also not edited, and it was written ten days after my son's death when I was still pretty disoriented. (Still am, but not to quite that extent.) Further, it wasn't written as something I ever intended to publish; it was a personal communication. And, really really unusually for me, it was in part about my feelings, which I rarely write about.

Joe, Trilogy, lschmoopie, Lea, 
Thank you

Nerd Cred,
You're quite wrong about having nothing wise or profound. Believe it or not, I didn't see the link between hugs helping and hugging/holding/mostly carrying my son. He was roughly 100 lbs. and I enjoyed carrying him, and I'm neither big nor strong for my size - 5'8", 155. 

Can your sister spell phonetically? She doesn't need to be able to spell right, just understandably. Jonah was actually kind of a lousy speller, but it didn't matter. That's probably because he didn't read much - he could see fine but CP gave him tracking difficulties. In other words, he couldn't read down a page because he couldn't go easily enough from the end of one line to the beginning of the next. Signs he could read, big print he could read, but not regular book pages. (Which meant, incidentally, that I did most of his homework with him because he needed his texts either read to him or synopsized.)

Lea's is the last comment I see before this posts, which I say in case I've missed anyone after her. If so, I'll catch you on the next comment.
What a heartfelt and honest post kosher. You've described the mix and range of emotions and what CP is like lucidly. I'm very sorry for your son and my sympathies are with you.
I watched in amazement of my Grandmother's grief when her son passed, my father. As devastating as it was for me, it was a separate and distinct sort of sorrow for my Grandmother. I remember her words, "parents are not supposed to see their children die." Several decades later, it still moves me. 

For you, Kosh, I wish you the resolution of your grief. I offer you to partake of our shared experiences for whatever good that might provide. And I wish I could give you a hug.
Oh, Kosh -- Now finally I can cry. I mean really sit here and just plain cry. [Which is what I'm doing except for a silly aside for whenever I get back to "silly".] I haven't wanted to intrude on either your time or your feelings; "and/but" (*) just in the past few days, every time I found a post discussing intelligently things that matter especially much to me personaly, I was more and more finding a recent "voice of reason" and therefore scrolling down to see whose post it was. Each time it was you. So finally today I "dassed" looking to see whether you'd posted a new blog and HERE YOU ARE. Thank Yahweh or G-d (**). And yes I still have the video of your son and his music. You are brave; so was he. I'm glad you're "both" (in the two so very different ways) back publicly on OS and continue to send every possible support vibe to you (and all OS-ers) in your private off-OS lives too.
*hug* And yes, I'm crying now.
Magnus (who I assume I used to know here under another name), Sweetfeet, and Marte,

Thank you all. I appreciate the support. 

Glad you saw it. Most might not recognize the geography as applying to you.
I did not know and I am so very sorry...Having lost my oldest son just 4 months ago I know, in a way, what you are dealing with. I think it is good to write about it, at least it is keeping me sane.
Wishing you and your family peace.
I'm sorry we have such similar circumstances. May I ask how old your son was?
He went in the hospital Oct 13th died Nov 13th and would have turned 40 on Jan 15th.
My condolences. I'm really sorry to hear it. I wish you an emotional recovery and I hope his memory brings you some joy in the years ahead.
I'm so very sorry to read of the loss of your son. Your family will be in my prayers.
What you write about your son, especially about hugging and kissing him, and telling him you loved him was so tender. Peace to you and your family and all the people who love you and loved your son.
Thank you. I miss him.
I, also, said Kaddish for Your son, and prayed for swift healing for You and Your family for the entire requisite thirty days.

May the Lord see fit to accomodate the wishes of the many who joined in this matter.
Thank you, Mark

Actually, the cumulative prayers have been remarkably effective. We haven't really fallen apart, at least not yet, which surprises me.
I am happy to hear that prayers have helped. 

If You haven't fallen apart, I have no doubt that Your tenacity and faith will assure that You don't.

Thank you for two things: the reading recommendation and the help you gave me when we discussed this. You'll notice I referred to that help in the post.
I am sorry to hear about the death of your son. Thank you for sharing this with us.
I'm so sorry for your loss of your son. I'm appreciative of your sharing this with the OS readers.
My deepest condolences. I came close to losing a grandson recently so I feel your pain.
Wren Dancer, Janice, A. Walrond, Myriad,

Thank you
Oh, what a beautiful, honest eulogy you've written, not just for Jonah but for all of you. When we lose a child, we lose a piece of ourselves. Bringing grief, confusion, anger out into the light fills a tiny bit of the empty place that will remain with us forever. And helps lighten the burden that will grow smaller with time. Grieving is unique to each person, there are no rules for how to feel, only acceptance that any feeling is right whenever its felt.

So many prayers and loving thoughts have been surrounding Jonah/Yonah Gavriel ben Ze'ev, from those who knew him, to those who 'know' you here and elsewhere and around the world. I haven't been able to use my computer or OS for over a month and am sorry I missed this and didn't contact you. But I hope you remember that I and also literally a village in Israel has been praying for his soul to rest ever in peace. Many notes have been placed in the Western Wall with prayers of peace for his soul and for the hearts of those he left behind to celebrate his life.

You wrote me last month, "A rockin' spirit my son had." That spirit is free now to slip, slide, run through slush, sing, laugh and play forever. Hold onto that. And I say to you what you said to Lunchlady: I hope his memory brings you some joy in the years ahead.

Olev h'Shalom
I am so sorry. Words are inadequate and I only hope that your memories of Jonah can bring a smile to your face and know that he will live on in your hearts!
Thank you so much. I didn't post this long ago at all, at least it didn't feel like it. I wrote it (the PM part, anyway) quite a while ago, ten days after his death, but I've been busy. I still haven't completed the task I wanted to complete before I returned but this post was getting too old and was too time-sensitive not to post.

The prayers have helped. I haven't come close to falling apart, which I still find odd. This experience has made me look at death differently somehow - I've never experienced it anything like this close. There are things I haven't written about here that I might have written in PM's but I don't want to go back and look them up. Let's just say I got closure in that there was no ambiguity; I'm not going to go into detail at the moment. Some day, perhaps.

Thank you.
This is a beautiful heartful piece. It is some of the most emotionally affecting reading I have experienced in quite sometime. I'm sorry for your loss. I thought you made some awesome thought provoking points.
Thanks for coming and for your comment. Glad you're here; haven't seen you in the neighborhood for a while, even though I haven't been here myself as much as I used to be.
Oh no! My deepest sympathy.
KS, I'm glad you posted the PM as it is. It is perfect. I cannot imagine. 
"May the One who causes peace to reign in the high heavens cause peace to reign among us and all Israel and let us say: Amen." Amen.
Thank you. 
I don't recommend imagining. It's not like I would have pictured it. Bad, just different.

Views: 69

Comment by JMac1949 Memories on April 22, 2015 at 9:34pm

I was just five posts up on Open Salon when you published this.  Sorry that I missed it.  R&L

Comment by koshersalaami on April 22, 2015 at 9:50pm
You wouldn't have known me yet. It would have been odd if you'd caught it.


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