I Will Remember

Yizkor - literally, "he will remember" in Hebrew.  An entire service devoted to remembering the deaths of our loved ones.  Four times each year.  Most notably on Yom Kippur.  After we finish reading the torah and haftarah, we recite Yizkor.  After having fasted for about seventeen hours, we remember our loved ones that have passed.

There is something incredibly meaningful about remembering our departed relatives and friends while on an empty stomach.  For some reason, the circumstances create a more vulnerable situation than I have allowed myself to be in for a very long time, if ever.  And, with that, emotions that I haven't experienced recently came rushing to the surface.

For the first time since April, I truly mourned the loss of my dog, Lily.  I remembered exactly what it felt like to play with her, pet her, and be around her.  I mourned the loss of my friend Molly four years ago.  I remember the different perspectives she brought to my life.  And, lastly, I mourned the loss of my grandfather fourteen and a half years ago.  I hardly knew the man, yet somehow, we were close.  I have only one strong recollection of him: sitting in the hotel by Lake Merritt.  I went to hang out with my grandparents after school one day while they were in California for part of the winter, and Grandpa and I watched TV and did puzzles.  He lived for puzzles, and I loved doing them with him.  I didn't really know what I was doing, but I was getting quality time with my grandpa.  What more could I have asked for?  I remember there was one puzzle I absolutely loved doing with him, and when he died, my grandma gave that puzzle to me.  Unfortunately, I don't know where that puzzle is today, but I definitely remember receiving it and being so excited about I got to keep it.

All these emotions that I had not visited in a long time, maybe not even since last Yom Kippur, came rushing back to me.  Holding the sefer torah, bawling all over the place.  I was exhausted, overworked, hungry, and filled with sadness.  And there is only so much a person can take before completely breaking down.

And yet, we call this service "Yizkor," he will remember.  I'm going to steal one from Rabbi Yoni and argue that the service might be better called "Ezkor," I will remember.  I will remember the lives of those who I hold close to me.  I will remember the happiness they brought to this world.  I will remember what they all wished of others and do my best to exemplify those values.

I would like to leave you with a poem by David Harkins:

You can shed tears that he is gone

Or you can smile because he has lived

You can close your eyes and pray that he will come back

Or you can open your eyes and see all that he has left

Your heart can be empty because you can't see him

Or you can be full of the love that you shared

You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday

Or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday

You can remember him and only that he is gone

Or you can cherish his memory and let it live on

You can cry and close your mind, be empty and turn your back

Or you can do what he would want: smile, open your eyes, love and go on.

Peace, love, and happiness,

Sam