I remember Jewish guilt back when I was a “normal” mother, each night as I looked down at each of my six sweetly slumbering children
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J
ewish guilt may be a part of every Jewish mother’s DNA but when a mother has lost her child guilt becomes a burden that’s difficult to bear.
I remember Jewish guilt back when I was a “normal” mother. It used to hit me at the end of each day as I made the rounds looking down at each of my six sweetly slumbering children. (And how sweet they looked in their blissful repose when they were down for the night and the rest of the evening was all mine.)
That was when the guilt struck hard and fast. Why had I not found the time to do that project with them? Why had I not helped with homework a little more or taken them outside to play longer than the few minutes I’d felt able to spare? Why had I not made a more healthful supper than macaroni? On and on it went Jewish guilt at its finest.
But then I found myself looking down at a child — not in blissful repose but in eternal repose. The guilt struck hard and fast another overwhelming emotion to add to the pool of a situation so profoundly wrong. And the guilt did not go away or fade or get better. It grew and grew and grew. As time went on and I recalled more and more there were more things to feel guilty about not less. So many things I could have done differently had I only had the chance had I only known.
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