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So my bedroom is right above the dining room, and the weak wireless signal from next door is only in the dining room - but if I try really hard, and move my computer just so, I can pick it up in my bedroom as well - which is what I am going to try to do right now in order to post this.
What to say?
So my grandfather's funeral was today. My father, my brother and my cousin's husband delivered eulogies. Each touched on a different part of my grandfather's life. My brother spoke on behalf all four of us siblings. We got together last night and brainstormed memories.
I realized today and yesterday that there are two kinds of memories. There are the kind that are snapshots, little moments, all separate in your mind, and sometimes choppy - like all of the moments I remember from this past Shabbat - when I went downstairs and my mother held my face in her hands. When my sister and I cried on each other's shoulders. The look on my dad's face after he tried a piece of that awful Pesach birthday cake. All of those are moments. But then there's another sort of memory, one I can't find a good label for - the kind that is a more general sense of something. A picture that spans all those moments, a composite - maybe that's the word. A composite of a bunch of moments. The kind of image or idea that stays in your mind even after all of the moments have been forgotten. A synthesis of moments.
When we brainstormed last night, those were the kind of memories that came most easily. I don't remember my grandfather in moments as much as I remember him as a presence, in the background of my life. I remember who he was - quiet, grateful, stubborn. My brother would add to that proud and humble - that was his synthesis of our brainstorming session last night. I would second that. He had that sort of way about him. He had that balance. My father spoke of that which was most important to my grandfather - his Judaism and his family. He recounted how, when my grandfather moved into my parents' home, they got an intercom so that he could call for them if he needed them. It was because of this intercom that my parents learned that my grandfather said shema every night, and followed it with his own personal prayers for members of his family. More than one person noted how, despite the difficult times my grandfather experienced - he fought in WWII in a unit that suffered many casualties; his daughter (my aunt) and his wife died within four months of each other - he did not lose his faith. My father also said more than once that though my grandfather's life was sometimes difficult, he lived a full life. My cousins' husband talked about how my grandfather became everyone's Pop-Pop and related some of his own experiences as a newer member of our family.
At the end of his eulogy, my cousin-in-law also recounted a comment made by his daughter, my cousin, who is almost seven. She wanted to come to the funeral, and her parents let her. She also wanted to come to the cemetary - so her parents let her. But first, they sat down with her to explain step by step what would happen. They also answered all of her questions. When they were discussing how we would bury my grandfather, she asked, "You mean like we bury a treasure?" Such a beautiful thought.
The room at the funeral home where we held the service was filled not only with people who know my father and my family, but also with people who knew my grandfather, many from having grown up with my father or from interacting with my family. One of our family friends, who has known my grandfather for many years, told us she didn't know his first name until yesterday, because he was always just Pop-Pop. All of the grandchildren and spouses of grandchildren escorted the casket out of the room. It was draped with an American flag because of my grandfather's service in the military - of which he was very proud, even though he told us very little about his experiences. At the cemetary, members of the family stayed - the rest of us went back, because my grandfather's two remaining siblings couldn't stay for too long as it was chilly out - to completely fill in the grave.
Then back to our house with all the family - including some people I haven't seen in years - for food and reminiscing. We swapped stories, looked at old photos, and also caught up on our own lives. Then the family left, and things were quiet for a bit. My cousin who lives up the block came down with her three kids and they played for a bit - in the main room, because the only person paying a shiva call was their aunt (not related to us). Later, after dinner, things got busy. I learned today that there is a certain shiva ettiquette in Teaneck, that people do not pay shiva calls between 6 and 7 PM.
That having been said, that hour was the perfect time for my friends to pay me a visit, first A then M. (And thank you so much for making such an effort to come out here!) We escaped from the more public areas of the house, and I didn't realize just how much I appreciated their company until they got a ride back right after Ma'ariv, and I didn't want to let them go. I miss you guys! All of you! I feel a bit out of place at home, but I also don't feel quite right leaving when I can just stay here. I do plan on coming back for Shabbat. I need some quality friend time. I am feeling a bit needy right now. Maybe some of the stuff i wasn't feeling before is starting to catch up with me, or maybe it's just the general mood in the house right now. I am almost, but not quite, in the mood to cry on someone's shoulder right now. I can't quite articulate why. I just feel a little teary. Maybe I should have brought home the Godiva after all.
On a lighter note, A finally got to see my house. Now she knows how "cozy" my room is. And I want to apologize for not receiving guests so well today. I am not so familiar with shiva ettiquette - which food I can offer, which food I can't offer, etc. And I was caught a bit off-guard, because normally, I'd bring a guest home and walk in the door with them, not wait for them to show up while I am in the middle of hearing a story from someone else. Anyway, I really did appreciate your visit - I just wish your ride back were leaving a little later. I definitely miss everyone.
What to say?
So my grandfather's funeral was today. My father, my brother and my cousin's husband delivered eulogies. Each touched on a different part of my grandfather's life. My brother spoke on behalf all four of us siblings. We got together last night and brainstormed memories.
I realized today and yesterday that there are two kinds of memories. There are the kind that are snapshots, little moments, all separate in your mind, and sometimes choppy - like all of the moments I remember from this past Shabbat - when I went downstairs and my mother held my face in her hands. When my sister and I cried on each other's shoulders. The look on my dad's face after he tried a piece of that awful Pesach birthday cake. All of those are moments. But then there's another sort of memory, one I can't find a good label for - the kind that is a more general sense of something. A picture that spans all those moments, a composite - maybe that's the word. A composite of a bunch of moments. The kind of image or idea that stays in your mind even after all of the moments have been forgotten. A synthesis of moments.
When we brainstormed last night, those were the kind of memories that came most easily. I don't remember my grandfather in moments as much as I remember him as a presence, in the background of my life. I remember who he was - quiet, grateful, stubborn. My brother would add to that proud and humble - that was his synthesis of our brainstorming session last night. I would second that. He had that sort of way about him. He had that balance. My father spoke of that which was most important to my grandfather - his Judaism and his family. He recounted how, when my grandfather moved into my parents' home, they got an intercom so that he could call for them if he needed them. It was because of this intercom that my parents learned that my grandfather said shema every night, and followed it with his own personal prayers for members of his family. More than one person noted how, despite the difficult times my grandfather experienced - he fought in WWII in a unit that suffered many casualties; his daughter (my aunt) and his wife died within four months of each other - he did not lose his faith. My father also said more than once that though my grandfather's life was sometimes difficult, he lived a full life. My cousins' husband talked about how my grandfather became everyone's Pop-Pop and related some of his own experiences as a newer member of our family.
At the end of his eulogy, my cousin-in-law also recounted a comment made by his daughter, my cousin, who is almost seven. She wanted to come to the funeral, and her parents let her. She also wanted to come to the cemetary - so her parents let her. But first, they sat down with her to explain step by step what would happen. They also answered all of her questions. When they were discussing how we would bury my grandfather, she asked, "You mean like we bury a treasure?" Such a beautiful thought.
The room at the funeral home where we held the service was filled not only with people who know my father and my family, but also with people who knew my grandfather, many from having grown up with my father or from interacting with my family. One of our family friends, who has known my grandfather for many years, told us she didn't know his first name until yesterday, because he was always just Pop-Pop. All of the grandchildren and spouses of grandchildren escorted the casket out of the room. It was draped with an American flag because of my grandfather's service in the military - of which he was very proud, even though he told us very little about his experiences. At the cemetary, members of the family stayed - the rest of us went back, because my grandfather's two remaining siblings couldn't stay for too long as it was chilly out - to completely fill in the grave.
Then back to our house with all the family - including some people I haven't seen in years - for food and reminiscing. We swapped stories, looked at old photos, and also caught up on our own lives. Then the family left, and things were quiet for a bit. My cousin who lives up the block came down with her three kids and they played for a bit - in the main room, because the only person paying a shiva call was their aunt (not related to us). Later, after dinner, things got busy. I learned today that there is a certain shiva ettiquette in Teaneck, that people do not pay shiva calls between 6 and 7 PM.
That having been said, that hour was the perfect time for my friends to pay me a visit, first A then M. (And thank you so much for making such an effort to come out here!) We escaped from the more public areas of the house, and I didn't realize just how much I appreciated their company until they got a ride back right after Ma'ariv, and I didn't want to let them go. I miss you guys! All of you! I feel a bit out of place at home, but I also don't feel quite right leaving when I can just stay here. I do plan on coming back for Shabbat. I need some quality friend time. I am feeling a bit needy right now. Maybe some of the stuff i wasn't feeling before is starting to catch up with me, or maybe it's just the general mood in the house right now. I am almost, but not quite, in the mood to cry on someone's shoulder right now. I can't quite articulate why. I just feel a little teary. Maybe I should have brought home the Godiva after all.
On a lighter note, A finally got to see my house. Now she knows how "cozy" my room is. And I want to apologize for not receiving guests so well today. I am not so familiar with shiva ettiquette - which food I can offer, which food I can't offer, etc. And I was caught a bit off-guard, because normally, I'd bring a guest home and walk in the door with them, not wait for them to show up while I am in the middle of hearing a story from someone else. Anyway, I really did appreciate your visit - I just wish your ride back were leaving a little later. I definitely miss everyone.
