Seeing an older man holding the hand of his young grandchild on the way to school brings the proverbial lump to my throat
G
rief doesn’t follow a timetable. It can occur before an actual loss, and persist for far longer than we — or others — think it should.
There’s another unpredictable thing about grief. Many months, or even years, may have passed since our loss. We think we’re doing better — and we are, in fact, feeling and functioning better, finding our footing in our vastly changed world. We believe the worst is over, when all of a sudden, something happens to trigger our grief.
The other day, I happened to be in shul midweek and saw the men putting on their tefillin. Flooded with memories of my husband z”l doing this, both on ordinary days and on special occasions, when, for example, he was the sandek for our grandsons, I felt myself starting to tear up. It got even worse when I remembered how, later, he wasn’t able to do this by himself.
It’s not surprising that Yamim Tovim, birthdays, anniversaries, and family simchahs are emotionally difficult after a loss. Bar and bas mitzvahs and graduations are particularly challenging for me. I always have a hard time at a particular moment at the Seder; everyone knows this and begins watching for the signs when, right after bentshing, we begin Hallel. There’s always a family member at the ready to grab my hand or put an arm around my shoulder. It’s that predictable.
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