i am not a religious person. i do not believe in anything. i do not believe that she is in a better place. or that she is with god. or that this is all part of a divine plan that will somehow make sense if you just have faith. i have no faith. i wish i could take comfort in the idea of something after this existence, something larger than myself, but i just can't.
on those rare occasions when i find myself in a synagogue, in a house of the supposed god, i am typically unmoved. it doesn't touch me or give me solace. usually i am just waiting to leave. but this weekend i found myself in a temple in maine, trying to celebrate with my family, while simultaneously attempting to ignore the impending reality that one of my friends is gone. and then i came across this passage in a prayerbook, and it made me cry.
where has this week vanished?
is it lost forever?
will i ever recover anything from it?
the joy of life,
the unexpected victory,
the realized hope,
the task accomplished?
will i ever be able to banish the memory of pain,
the sting of defeat,
the heaviness of boredom?
on this day let me keep for a while what must drift away.
on this day let me be free of the burdens that must return.
on this day, abide.
help me to withdraw for a while
from the flight of time.
contain the retreat of the hours and days
from the grasp of frantic life.
let me learn to pause, if only for this day.
let me find peace on this day.
let me enter into a quiet world this day.
on this day, abide.
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4 comments:
You pretty much summed up my beliefs and take on the situation. I still can't believe she is gone. I hear her voice in my head. I see her always-smiling face. I see myself wave to her in the reflection of the mirrors at the Y while she is on the machine I usually want. It doesn't feel real yet. I can't for the life of me imagine how devastating this is for Josue or her parents. It's senseless and horrible.
But I will say one thing, seeing how Erin and Joe Katz handled everything this weekend made me love them even more than I already do. We are lucky to have each other.
you're so right. our little group is very special and i'm lucky to be a member of it.
It's still not real, but this post made me weep. Damn my luck for trying to read it at work. On Josue's birthday. Two days after Rasha's.
I told my therapist the week after her memorial that this is the only time I've ever wished I believed in something. The thought of never seeing Rasha again, never again laughing with her, sharing a meal with her, or getting tricked into planning something by her -- that just doesn't seem possible or plausible at all. That's when my therapist said to light a candle & talk to her. And I almost walked out of her office, but I restrained myself & just responded, "I wish I could believe in that too."
I love you, my friends.
we love you too, miss fifi.
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