I woke up this morning in a full blown blast of Jet Lag and gratefully, I can give into the lag adjusting to home time after a riverboat ride that proved to be harder than I expected. But isn’t that how it’s been for this entire year without you- unpredictable, no matter how I tried to plan ahead for tough events. It was always more about taking the journey, right?
Yesterday was once again, a perfect example. I’ve been dreading August 21,2016 probably since August 21, 2015- marking the day that you were taken from us. I planned it in my head, dreaded the emotional power of memory, even agonized over a special letter to you, commemorating the year. I bought you roses at Shoprite and arrived at the house in Paramus to meet Ami for the visit to the cemetery, hoping to feel you there.
Ami and Adi arrived before me and to take one more walk around the house. Still your aroma enveloped me, breathing you in, holding on to you. Hoping to hear, call, “Bonnie Shurum is that you?”
Now, for the first time the house felt empty. The walls, once filled with family paintings were bare, the area rug that we picked out together after the hard woods were installed was gone. The house was in transition, to pass on to a new owner. With one good coat of fresh paint your aroma will be gone as well.
One last walk through the home we shared. Back in our bedroom I turned on your closet light and felt around the top shelf, where I found some of our photos and correspondence, but there was always some missing. And then I kept digging deeper on that same shelf, past travel books into a dark corner…there I found treasure- the missing cards from me, the photo albums I made for you from our early years together. Everything I had searched for was always right there for me. Love you, T.
Ami and Adi found a few things to take with them from the bookshelves downstairs and out of the dining room breakfront. Then we left the house and headed for the cemetery. I hoped that I could find you at the place your bones rest.
It was hot,humid and the sun beat down on us as we left our cars and walked slowly careful not to step on the grave stones of others. There was your new stone:Tuvia Rosenberg M.D./”husband,father, partner, grandfather…We spoke about the stones still in need of anchoring and adjustment but even now with your maker in front of me and I still didn’t feel you there. Back at the house, yes, at my place, yes but not in the this field of stones.
I had a my piece to read, and Ami and Adi were ready to listen but I was blinded in this sunshine and let it go. I left my rose on your stone, following your tradition of leaving flowers on the graves of family, rather than small stones and still I wanted to feel you there. Even after Ami and Adi left I stayed behind, lingering, hoping that now alone I could commune with you.
No. I walked back to my car pulled up my letter and read it out loud. But still it didn’t seem to ring true. I didn’t feel you listening.
I left… tearing up… searching for the entrance/exit because I had things to do: groceries to buy to fill an empty refrigerator back home, plans to confirm with Jane and Michael for dinner and the rest of the rose bouquet to get into water… roses that will live with me this week, here where I feel your presence powerfully and new/old pictures for our life to together to display.
And here’s where my journey continues as I enter year two with/without you…
Miss you T,