Today is my Hebrew birthday. Yesterday was my father's 8th Yortzeit. (!?! How am I even writing these two sentences?!)
All day yesterday, I couldn't find the words. The juxtaposition between enjoying Camp Mommy and barreling down the street to shul for kaddish, this time with a stroller, was something I couldn't quite express the way I wanted to.
This morning, however, my son and I made "Zayde Omlettes" for breakfast. (We've been talking a lot about how yesterday was a day to remember Zayde). My version came out as more of a scramble, while my dad's usually came out in one piece. Either way, I took it as a chance to introduce his 4 year old palette to sauteed onions a mushrooms, a little cheese, in addition to his usual preference of plain fried egg.
The simplicity of this breakfast struck me. We often remember and miss the ones we love during the big moments - holidays, celebrations, yortzeits. But the hardest part of loss, I think, is in the every day, unremarkable stuff we don't talk about because we're so used to it.
And then one day... it's just not there anymore. And all we are left with are memories.
My bracha to share on this day is that we make the every day, unremarkable moments count - so that our memories of time with our loved ones... and their memories of us when the time comes... are robust and full of life.
PHOTO
This is the omlette my dad made for breakfast on my last weekend home with him - even though none of us knew it at the time. I'm so very glad I snapped this (no longer random) photo.
