Tomorrow is the funeral of my father, Seymour Kessler, Sholom ben (son of) Meir Zev and Golda. He died two days ago. Since then it's been a whirlwind of arranging flights from New York to California, dealing with funeral homes in both places, coordinating with rabbis and much more. Tomorrow the days of preparation end. The awful and awesome and overwhelming task of memorializing and burying my father awaits. So too the beginning a life without parents.
I'm not ready. I'm not ready to become a mourner. I'm not ready to say kaddish, neither now nor every day for the next year. I'm not ready to begin going to shul every day and leading prayers. I'm not ready to begin the painful process of coming to terms with this heavy loss. I'm not ready to say goodbye. I don't want to. I wanted more time. But he was ready. He's left us. A door closed. Now I'm stepping into uncharted territory. Not by choice but because I'm being pushed into it. I have to, but I don't want to. I'm going. But I'm not ready.
No comments:
Post a Comment