I Miss Her So Much

This post is depressing, you might want to skip it. I just came back from the cemetery and my feeling have to come out here since I can't let them out anywhere else. I know two people really close to me read this blog and I recommend that you both stay away from this post.


Mom, I know how you loved flowers. I still can't walk by a stand in the city and not want to buy you a big bunch.

When I look at my students, I always remember how proud you were of me when I used to meet you in Flushing and we ran into the kids I taught. Their warm words always warmed your heart. I'm so sorry I never brought you with me to work. I remember telling you to get better and I would bring you to school. You never did get better. You would have loved being in the classroom with me.

It shouldn't be this hard. I'm an adult, with adult children, a wonderful husband, two terrific kids, a great dad and a job I love. But, Passover is approaching and I still miss my mom so much, it hurts.

Passover was always a very special holiday in my house. We cleaned the house thoroughly. We got rid of all our Chometz and got out the special dishes, silverware, pots and pans, reserved for use this week only.

When I first got married, we celebrated one night in my parents house and one night in mine. I never minded the work. I loved the traditions. As the years passed, and my mom's health grew frail, we celebrated both nights in my home. The work was out of control, but I never minded. I treasured every minute with my family and my friends.

Seven years ago my mom was in the hospital on Passover. Although the food was good and the company great, I had a terrible time. It wasn't the same without her and my dad. I consoled myself with the thought that next year she would be better and be back at the table, and she was. We had another few years of celebrating the seder together. Then, she started feeling sick again. I remember my brother-in-law calling me into the kitchen and telling me he thought this would be her last Passover. I wanted to slug him. I couldn't believe he would say something so cruel, especially in my own house after he feasted on my cooking. He wasn't being cruel, though. He was being straight out honest. Mom didn't come back night two. She didn't feel up to it. We carried on without her and then brought leftovers to her another night during the week and did the best we could to celebrate again.

The first day back to work after the break my phone rang at 6:00 AM. My dad spent the night with her in the emergency room. I took off from work and ran to the hospital. When I got there, she didn't look so bad but little by little she deteriorated. By the time she got into a room, she was barely conscious.

Over the course of the next few weeks, she went from bad to worse. Aside from her physical conditions, her brain started failing. She hallucinated. She lost control of her bodily functions. Her kidneys failed. She needed a minor operation to drain some blood that was in her brain. She did not want it. We badgered her into agreeing to it. For anyone in good health, the surgery would have been minor. She never woke up from it. When the doctors wanted to disconnect the tubes, my sister fought for a tracheotomy and a feeding tube. Eventually, we had those removed and she died within hours, peacefully in her sleep.

While she was going through all this, I didn't think about her. She was in the hands of G-d and in the hands of good doctors. I focused on my dad. He was the one that needed me and I didn't have enough strength for both of them. I wasn't the good daughter I should have been. I let her down at the end.

Mom, every dish I prepare, I prepare thinking of how much you enjoyed it. I think of how proud you were of the table I set and the family I raised. I pray that there is some way you are watching us and still enjoying our Passover seders. Mom, I can't cry because if I do, daddy will cry too and he does enough of that without me egging him on. Mom, I know you always told me that death was part of living and that we all would be gone one day. I just wasn't ready to lose you. I don't think I ever could be ready.