We are yours.
You wait for the validation of a baby’s first cry. Then, at last, you will feel that you deserve the title “Mommy.” But you are no less a Mommy than all the mothers around you.
We are your neshamalehs.
We are a paradox. We are the easiest children and we are the hardest children. We have never kept you up at night with our wails. And yet we have kept you up so many nights, as the tears pour from your own eyes.
We have never thrown a temper tantrum in the grocery store. And yet, we will never stand beside you as you walk us to the chuppah. We have never disturbed you as you davened beside the candles on Friday night. And yet the thought of us breaks your heart as you whisper the words: “May I merit to raise children and grandchildren…”
Under the chuppah, you encircled our Abba. It was the happiest day of your life. We were there. The fact that we exist only in the spiritual world does not make us less real. When you have reached 120 years, you will meet us at last. Your children.
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