Things I'd Like to Say

In the Jewish religion, it's customary to go to the cemetery and visit the graves of departed family members during the weeks before the Jewish New Year. It's about remembering those who went before us, and thanking them for their contribution to us when they lived. Some of you may have seen photos of Jewish gravestones that look like this:

It's a custom to leave a stone, as a symbol that someone visited: flowers may fade, but stones are a more permanent sign that someone was there and someone remembered. 

In my case, many of my late relatives are all in the same cemetery: I visit my parents, my maternal grandfather, my maternal grandmother, as well as various aunts, uncles, and cousins from my mother's side of the family. (The relatives from my father's side are in entirely different places, and I try to get over to visit some of them too.) 

At this time of year, I often find myself thinking about my parents. My father and I never got along well-- he was very traditional and I was not. I don't think he expected to have a daughter who was a feminist, nor could he understand why I left home to pursue a radio career (rather than staying in the neighborhood and getting married). I always felt like I was a disappointment to him-- I just couldn't be what he thought I ought to be. My mother and I, on the other hand, had a very close relationship: when I was growing up, we'd often discuss current events, or we'd talk about what I was studying in college (she shared my love for history and literature). In fact, my mother and I were close for many years. 

But then, towards the end of her life, something happened, and we no longer got along. To this day, I wish I knew what it was. I have replayed our conversations numerous times, but while I have a few theories about what went wrong, I still don't understand what I did that caused us to become estranged. After all this time, I'm not sure it would make a difference if I did know exactly what the reason was; all I know is that she and I could no longer talk with each other the way we did for so many years. And although I can't change it, losing that relationship bothers me to this day.    

In the next few days, I will make my visit to the cemetery, as I do every year. I will say my prayers, and I will thank my parents for their many contributions to my life. And I will leave a stone to show that I was there and I remembered. And I will tell my mother and father that I'm trying my best to live an ethical and compassionate life, and to make a difference in the world. And as is the custom, I will give a donation to charity in their memory (something I often do throughout the year anyway). 

And I'd like to believe that they were proud of me, even with whatever differences we may have had. Of course, there's no way to know, and if I could ask them, I would. There are so many conversations I wish we'd had, so many things I wish I had said. But that must remain in the past, even if some of those experiences still feel incomplete. And so, I focus on the fact that the Jewish New Year is coming, along with the Ten Days of Repentance. And I will keep trying to do my part to make the world a better place. It's the best way I know to honor what my parents taught me.