Dear Readers,
It is with a sense of bittersweet pleasure that I announce the forthcoming publication of this poem, Chapter 26 of In Memory of Ben, in a thematic poetry anthology that will appear, I suspect, in the spring of 2006. For Ben ...
Chapter 26: Mourning's Reflections
Illusory strength...
quivering knees.
witnessing ...
irreversible
finality.
Near the edge ...
swaying,
clutching a moment's time more
until words enough,
this end a beginning,
reality obscene.
Linger intimate friends,
voices hushed.
sobbing disbelief ...
soon resignation,
what choice ...
really?
Faith ... that Thou art with me,
though alone I remain
but a shadow of time before;
a mound of earth returns to its void,
last glance,
turn to depart
from this ground.
Fading memory
searching ...
mind moments yet recalled.
Saturday, December 31, 2005
Sunday, December 25, 2005
Dear Readers ... below please find Chapter 53 of In Memory of Ben
Please feel free to comment though I sense that some readers may be reluctant to do so because the content is sensitive. However, I welcome any and all comments. It is just one way that you can help me keep Ben's memory alive!
Ben’s Leaf on the Etz Chaim
“In Memory Of
Benjamin Busch
Whose Good Deeds, Kind
Nature & Gentle Manner
Will Forever Be An
Inspiration To Us”
These words are inscribed on a leaf of the “Etz Chaim”, the Tree of Life, in my synagogue. Have you ever wondered why we affix a memorial leaf to a ‘Tree of Life’? For the same reason, I suppose, that the “Mourner’s Kaddish” makes no mention of death whatsoever … and for the same reason that we say “L’Chaim-To Life”- upon raising a glass in celebration together.
The answer is actually this: that the leaf-though it painfully confronts me with both the realization and recollection of Ben’s death-is in fact a reminder of my obligation to celebrate his life. No matter that it ended prematurely, abruptly, agonizingly! However, the very unimagineably worst part of it all is-having read the attending paramedic’s deposition-that Ben was both conscious and able to speak for a brief while before finally and permanently losing consciousness … that he understood what had happened, during which time he suffered horrendous pain and bespoke his fear that he was dying. As Ben’s dad, the certain knowledge that my son’s last waking moments were consumed by such trauma and fear leaves me cold and quiet, my thoughts inchoate …
As a Jew, I am thankful that our faith is one of eternal optimism. We learn that life is inherently miraculous and therefore holy; we are guardians of life’s sanctity. Often over these last five years, I have had to revert back to this sustaining belief-in those moments when the unalterable fact of the death of my child has become nearly overwhelming, when the solitude of a Sunday morning is replaced by the uneasy quiet of a mourner’s lonely room … when all that tangibly remains are a few personal belongings: a shirt, suit, some old boots, a bicycle in need of repair, a signature that surprisingly appeared when I turned the page of scrapbook … when the absolute permanence and enormity of a child’s death makes one feel so insignificant, so powerlessly tiny! To have to navigate daily these treacherous waters is no simple task as we are invariably reminded of how vast God’s ocean is whilst we remain adrift in such a small boat! Life’s only antidote to the pain of our loss is the tenacity with which we remember our children … that we simply refuse to allow their memory to die; though their bodies are gone, their physicality ended, our linkage to them instead becomes one of remembrance, of dedication and rededication, all of which reminds us how very fortunate we are indeed to have enjoyed their time with us for as long as we did.
Please feel free to comment though I sense that some readers may be reluctant to do so because the content is sensitive. However, I welcome any and all comments. It is just one way that you can help me keep Ben's memory alive!
Ben’s Leaf on the Etz Chaim
“In Memory Of
Benjamin Busch
Whose Good Deeds, Kind
Nature & Gentle Manner
Will Forever Be An
Inspiration To Us”
These words are inscribed on a leaf of the “Etz Chaim”, the Tree of Life, in my synagogue. Have you ever wondered why we affix a memorial leaf to a ‘Tree of Life’? For the same reason, I suppose, that the “Mourner’s Kaddish” makes no mention of death whatsoever … and for the same reason that we say “L’Chaim-To Life”- upon raising a glass in celebration together.
The answer is actually this: that the leaf-though it painfully confronts me with both the realization and recollection of Ben’s death-is in fact a reminder of my obligation to celebrate his life. No matter that it ended prematurely, abruptly, agonizingly! However, the very unimagineably worst part of it all is-having read the attending paramedic’s deposition-that Ben was both conscious and able to speak for a brief while before finally and permanently losing consciousness … that he understood what had happened, during which time he suffered horrendous pain and bespoke his fear that he was dying. As Ben’s dad, the certain knowledge that my son’s last waking moments were consumed by such trauma and fear leaves me cold and quiet, my thoughts inchoate …
As a Jew, I am thankful that our faith is one of eternal optimism. We learn that life is inherently miraculous and therefore holy; we are guardians of life’s sanctity. Often over these last five years, I have had to revert back to this sustaining belief-in those moments when the unalterable fact of the death of my child has become nearly overwhelming, when the solitude of a Sunday morning is replaced by the uneasy quiet of a mourner’s lonely room … when all that tangibly remains are a few personal belongings: a shirt, suit, some old boots, a bicycle in need of repair, a signature that surprisingly appeared when I turned the page of scrapbook … when the absolute permanence and enormity of a child’s death makes one feel so insignificant, so powerlessly tiny! To have to navigate daily these treacherous waters is no simple task as we are invariably reminded of how vast God’s ocean is whilst we remain adrift in such a small boat! Life’s only antidote to the pain of our loss is the tenacity with which we remember our children … that we simply refuse to allow their memory to die; though their bodies are gone, their physicality ended, our linkage to them instead becomes one of remembrance, of dedication and rededication, all of which reminds us how very fortunate we are indeed to have enjoyed their time with us for as long as we did.
Saturday, December 24, 2005
In Memory of Ben, Z"L
A Series of Vignettes about My Son, Olav Ha Shalom
Alan D. Busch
A Note to Readers: Below please find Chapter 1A of In Memory of Ben.
Please feel free to comment. Not to worry ... this bereft parent welcomes any and all feedback!
Postscript: A Glimpse at an Earlier and Happier Moment
In our much younger years one Sunday evening, the three of us: Ben, Ben's mom and I were sharing dinner together. Back then Ben's mom often worked evenings requiring that I become a highly proficient "Mr. Mom". It was just after having begun our sumptuous repast of white rice, beef and peapods, that Ben- already very fidgety in his high chair-let us know rather vociferously that he wanted out whereupon he contented himself upon my knee. Always a rather sizeable child, I balanced Ben upon my left knee while trying to feed the both of us with my right hand. Alternating between his mouth and mine, we shared our meal together, but for a moment as I took a mouthful, Ben-obviously still very hungry and growing somewhat restless-blurted out: "More 'wice' daddy!" Well, upon hearing those delightful but impatient words, Ben's mom and I guffawed so hysterically ... I guess it was one of those moments-you just had to have been there!
A Series of Vignettes about My Son, Olav Ha Shalom
Alan D. Busch
A Note to Readers: Below please find Chapter 1A of In Memory of Ben.
Please feel free to comment. Not to worry ... this bereft parent welcomes any and all feedback!
Postscript: A Glimpse at an Earlier and Happier Moment
In our much younger years one Sunday evening, the three of us: Ben, Ben's mom and I were sharing dinner together. Back then Ben's mom often worked evenings requiring that I become a highly proficient "Mr. Mom". It was just after having begun our sumptuous repast of white rice, beef and peapods, that Ben- already very fidgety in his high chair-let us know rather vociferously that he wanted out whereupon he contented himself upon my knee. Always a rather sizeable child, I balanced Ben upon my left knee while trying to feed the both of us with my right hand. Alternating between his mouth and mine, we shared our meal together, but for a moment as I took a mouthful, Ben-obviously still very hungry and growing somewhat restless-blurted out: "More 'wice' daddy!" Well, upon hearing those delightful but impatient words, Ben's mom and I guffawed so hysterically ... I guess it was one of those moments-you just had to have been there!
Thursday, December 22, 2005
In Memory of Ben, Z"L
A Series of Vignettes about My Son, Olav Ha Shalom
Alan D. Busch
A Note to Readers: Below please find the current Table of Contents to In Memory of Ben and Chapter 1
~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Contents ~~~~~~~~~~~~
Preface: In Memory of Ben
Chapter 1: The Last Time
Chapter 1a: Postscript-A Glimpse at an Earlier and Happier Moment
Chapter 2: Asher Yatzar es Ha Adom B'chochma
Chapter 3: Tattoos
Chapter 4: Diagonals
Chapter 4a: Postscript-A Glimpse Forward in Time
Chapter 5: Lancets, Cotton Balls, Syringes and Insulin
Chapter 6: To Have His Own Place
Chapter 6a: Postscript-Kimberly's Deposition
Chapter 7: Mazel Run Out
Chapter 7a: Postscript to Mazel Run Out
Chapter 8: Evocative of the Presence
Chapter 8a: Postscript-A Moment Forward to Zac's Bar Mitzvah
Chapter 9: Al Ha Nissim
Chapter 9a: Postscript to: Al Ha Nissim- *Rachomim
Chapter 10: Kindergarten Chairs
Chapter 11: Reaching In
Chapter 12: Ben ... Torah
Chapter 13: Choices
Chapter 14: Comforting
Chapter 15: Unhealable
Chapter 16: An Act of Trust and Kindness
Chapter 16a: Postscript to An Act of Trust and Kindness-A Baby's Blue Blanket
Chapter 17: Fractions
Chapter 18: Letter to Ben
Chapter 18a: Addition to Letter of Ben Just Prior to Erev Rosh Ha Shanah, 5766
Chapter 19: Shomer
Chapter 20: An Acrostic about Ben
Chapter 21: Erev Shabbat and The Letter
Chapter 22: A B C (s)
Chapter 23: Bais shel Emes
Chapter 24: Time Passage and Anticipation
Chapter 25: The Tenth Plague
Chapter 26: Mourning's Reflections
Chapter 27: Thanks to My Friends: "Bentzi" and EliDov- Zac's Letter Found
Chapter 28: Shem Tov-A Good Name
Chapter 29: Learning Lessons Late
Chapter 30: Fragments
Chapter 31: Halfway
Chapter 32: " ... Who Endured Illness with Majesty and Grace ..."
Chapter 33: Standing at the Edge
Chapter 34: In a Better Place
Chapter 35: I Wish I Could Have
Chapter 36: How Many Children
Chapter 36a: Kimberly's Comments
Chapter 37: "27"
Chapter 38: Grief Progress Report
Chapter 39: Ben and Zac
Chapter 40: I Was Just Beginning
Chapter 41: The Messenger
Chapter 42: A Blessing, the Ocean, Ben and I
Chapter 43: My Other Children
Chapter 44: Of Late
Chapter 45: Like Father ... Like Son
Chapter 46: No More Pictures
Chapter 47: Reflections on Dr. Gordon Livingston’s Book On Spring
Chapter 48: With Whom I Never Grieved
Chapter 49: Five Years Ago
Chapter 50: Everyday is a Thanksgiving
Chapter 51: Measurement … Memory
Chapter 52: God’s Role
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 1: The Last Time ...
I believe it was an act of Divine Kindness that I last saw my son Benjamin Wednesday morning, November 22, 2000. Having just left shul to drop off my dry cleaning, I turned around to leave and saw Ben standing just behind me. He had woken up late for work, saw my car parked outside the dry cleaners, and asked me to drive him to the train. It was pretty much like any other morning but with two significant differences: I was pleasantly surprised to see Ben that morning. Why so unusual? First, Ben lived in his mom's house. I had moved out the previous summer. So seeing Ben that morning was a special treat, and secondly ... this was to be our last few moments together. Off we drove to the train but five minutes away. Our last conversation as I recall went something like this:
"How are you, Ben?"
"Fine, Dad. You?"
"Okay. How are you?"
"Good."
"You feeling good?"
"Yup."
( by this time we were right in front of the train station. I pulled over.)
"Do you have money on you?"
"Yes, Dad. See ya later!"
"Be safe!"
and off he went ... I got to work a few minutes later. Seemed like just another day until about 1:30 or so ... when I received a phone call from a man who identified himself as an ER doctor at Cook County Hospital. He told me that Ben had been in a very serious traffic accident, and that I should come down immediately!
Upon arriving, I was rushed into the ER whereupon I saw Ben. They placed me behind a glass partition with a full view of a frenzied team of doctors, nurses and technicians struggling mightily to save my son. Having called my dad on the way down, he arrived soon by my side, choking back the tears and pleading with Ben that he hold on! I subsequently learned that the attending trauma surgeon later testified in a deposition I read that he was worried about my dad witnessing what proved to be futile efforts lest something befall him.
Open heart massage ... failed! Oxygen mask ... failed! Electric shock ... failed!
Moments later, the lead doctor turned to me and sadly shook his head. Ben was gone! He asked me if I wanted to be with him. My dad was taken aside. A curtain was drawn. Whether it be in life or death, and at that particular moment, the transition from one to the other was almost entirely seamless-the dividing line being so thin-that I stood over Ben's face, placed a *kippah upon his head, kissed his handsome nose and repeatedly sang the 23rd Psalm, thanking him for having been such a good son! It was all I knew to do at that moment! We spent about half an hour together that final afternoon, just the two of us, Ben and I.
Soon thereafter, the body had to be moved. My friend Rabbi Louis had arrived just minutes before. Almost as gut retching as watching Ben leave forever was that now Ben's mom had to be told. She had just arrived from work, having had to drive a far greater distance than I. I was led to a room opposite the emergency room where she sat awaiting news. Accompanied by my dad and Rabbi Louis, I approached her. My younger son Zac sat off to his mom's right. Several of Ben's buddies were there too. It was they whom I later learned had brought Zac to the hospital.
"Ben is gone!" I cried out placing my forehead upon the top of her head. Only from a bereaved mother can there be heard such a primal utterance of pain! I shall never forget its sound! Between that horrific moment and my hallway conversation with the lead doctor, I do not know what subsequently happened in that waiting room. I soon thereafter informed the doctor that Ben was a Jew and that I forbad any autopsy. He assured me that he understood. After several hours, only Rabbi Louis and I were left. When there was nothing more that we could do, we left the hospital. We walked together to my truck. I was to drive him home as he had taken a cab to the hospital. Therein we sat. Rabbi Louis called Rabbi Moshe, a chaplain with the Chicago Police Department, to see if he could expedite the transfer of Ben's body from the morgue to the funeral home. When the truck was warm, I drove Rabbi Louis home just a mile or so from my apartment. After that, I remember nothing more of that Wednesday, November 22, 2000 the day before Thanksgiving. I think I fell asleep that night in my apartment!
*Kippah ... a skullcap signifying God's presence overhead.
A Series of Vignettes about My Son, Olav Ha Shalom
Alan D. Busch
A Note to Readers: Below please find the current Table of Contents to In Memory of Ben and Chapter 1
Please feel free to comment. Not to worry ... this bereft parent welcomes any and all feedback!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Contents ~~~~~~~~~~~~
Preface: In Memory of Ben
Chapter 1: The Last Time
Chapter 1a: Postscript-A Glimpse at an Earlier and Happier Moment
Chapter 2: Asher Yatzar es Ha Adom B'chochma
Chapter 3: Tattoos
Chapter 4: Diagonals
Chapter 4a: Postscript-A Glimpse Forward in Time
Chapter 5: Lancets, Cotton Balls, Syringes and Insulin
Chapter 6: To Have His Own Place
Chapter 6a: Postscript-Kimberly's Deposition
Chapter 7: Mazel Run Out
Chapter 7a: Postscript to Mazel Run Out
Chapter 8: Evocative of the Presence
Chapter 8a: Postscript-A Moment Forward to Zac's Bar Mitzvah
Chapter 9: Al Ha Nissim
Chapter 9a: Postscript to: Al Ha Nissim- *Rachomim
Chapter 10: Kindergarten Chairs
Chapter 11: Reaching In
Chapter 12: Ben ... Torah
Chapter 13: Choices
Chapter 14: Comforting
Chapter 15: Unhealable
Chapter 16: An Act of Trust and Kindness
Chapter 16a: Postscript to An Act of Trust and Kindness-A Baby's Blue Blanket
Chapter 17: Fractions
Chapter 18: Letter to Ben
Chapter 18a: Addition to Letter of Ben Just Prior to Erev Rosh Ha Shanah, 5766
Chapter 19: Shomer
Chapter 20: An Acrostic about Ben
Chapter 21: Erev Shabbat and The Letter
Chapter 22: A B C (s)
Chapter 23: Bais shel Emes
Chapter 24: Time Passage and Anticipation
Chapter 25: The Tenth Plague
Chapter 26: Mourning's Reflections
Chapter 27: Thanks to My Friends: "Bentzi" and EliDov- Zac's Letter Found
Chapter 28: Shem Tov-A Good Name
Chapter 29: Learning Lessons Late
Chapter 30: Fragments
Chapter 31: Halfway
Chapter 32: " ... Who Endured Illness with Majesty and Grace ..."
Chapter 33: Standing at the Edge
Chapter 34: In a Better Place
Chapter 35: I Wish I Could Have
Chapter 36: How Many Children
Chapter 36a: Kimberly's Comments
Chapter 37: "27"
Chapter 38: Grief Progress Report
Chapter 39: Ben and Zac
Chapter 40: I Was Just Beginning
Chapter 41: The Messenger
Chapter 42: A Blessing, the Ocean, Ben and I
Chapter 43: My Other Children
Chapter 44: Of Late
Chapter 45: Like Father ... Like Son
Chapter 46: No More Pictures
Chapter 47: Reflections on Dr. Gordon Livingston’s Book On Spring
Chapter 48: With Whom I Never Grieved
Chapter 49: Five Years Ago
Chapter 50: Everyday is a Thanksgiving
Chapter 51: Measurement … Memory
Chapter 52: God’s Role
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 1: The Last Time ...
I believe it was an act of Divine Kindness that I last saw my son Benjamin Wednesday morning, November 22, 2000. Having just left shul to drop off my dry cleaning, I turned around to leave and saw Ben standing just behind me. He had woken up late for work, saw my car parked outside the dry cleaners, and asked me to drive him to the train. It was pretty much like any other morning but with two significant differences: I was pleasantly surprised to see Ben that morning. Why so unusual? First, Ben lived in his mom's house. I had moved out the previous summer. So seeing Ben that morning was a special treat, and secondly ... this was to be our last few moments together. Off we drove to the train but five minutes away. Our last conversation as I recall went something like this:
"How are you, Ben?"
"Fine, Dad. You?"
"Okay. How are you?"
"Good."
"You feeling good?"
"Yup."
( by this time we were right in front of the train station. I pulled over.)
"Do you have money on you?"
"Yes, Dad. See ya later!"
"Be safe!"
and off he went ... I got to work a few minutes later. Seemed like just another day until about 1:30 or so ... when I received a phone call from a man who identified himself as an ER doctor at Cook County Hospital. He told me that Ben had been in a very serious traffic accident, and that I should come down immediately!
Upon arriving, I was rushed into the ER whereupon I saw Ben. They placed me behind a glass partition with a full view of a frenzied team of doctors, nurses and technicians struggling mightily to save my son. Having called my dad on the way down, he arrived soon by my side, choking back the tears and pleading with Ben that he hold on! I subsequently learned that the attending trauma surgeon later testified in a deposition I read that he was worried about my dad witnessing what proved to be futile efforts lest something befall him.
Open heart massage ... failed! Oxygen mask ... failed! Electric shock ... failed!
Moments later, the lead doctor turned to me and sadly shook his head. Ben was gone! He asked me if I wanted to be with him. My dad was taken aside. A curtain was drawn. Whether it be in life or death, and at that particular moment, the transition from one to the other was almost entirely seamless-the dividing line being so thin-that I stood over Ben's face, placed a *kippah upon his head, kissed his handsome nose and repeatedly sang the 23rd Psalm, thanking him for having been such a good son! It was all I knew to do at that moment! We spent about half an hour together that final afternoon, just the two of us, Ben and I.
Soon thereafter, the body had to be moved. My friend Rabbi Louis had arrived just minutes before. Almost as gut retching as watching Ben leave forever was that now Ben's mom had to be told. She had just arrived from work, having had to drive a far greater distance than I. I was led to a room opposite the emergency room where she sat awaiting news. Accompanied by my dad and Rabbi Louis, I approached her. My younger son Zac sat off to his mom's right. Several of Ben's buddies were there too. It was they whom I later learned had brought Zac to the hospital.
"Ben is gone!" I cried out placing my forehead upon the top of her head. Only from a bereaved mother can there be heard such a primal utterance of pain! I shall never forget its sound! Between that horrific moment and my hallway conversation with the lead doctor, I do not know what subsequently happened in that waiting room. I soon thereafter informed the doctor that Ben was a Jew and that I forbad any autopsy. He assured me that he understood. After several hours, only Rabbi Louis and I were left. When there was nothing more that we could do, we left the hospital. We walked together to my truck. I was to drive him home as he had taken a cab to the hospital. Therein we sat. Rabbi Louis called Rabbi Moshe, a chaplain with the Chicago Police Department, to see if he could expedite the transfer of Ben's body from the morgue to the funeral home. When the truck was warm, I drove Rabbi Louis home just a mile or so from my apartment. After that, I remember nothing more of that Wednesday, November 22, 2000 the day before Thanksgiving. I think I fell asleep that night in my apartment!
*Kippah ... a skullcap signifying God's presence overhead.
Monday, December 12, 2005
God’s Role …
Is it not essential that as Jews we freely and gladly acknowledge God’s indispensable role in bringing forth new life? Can anyone truthfully attribute the conception, gestation and birth of a baby to woman and man alone as if the process of human sexual reproduction were not perhaps the most fundamental example of God’s handiwork? Do we not speak of three partners in procreation: woman, man and God? Why is it that we can so freely say “Thank God!” upon the birth of a child whereas upon the death of a child … our understanding of God’s role becomes inherently much more problematic. Furthermore, can we even presume such a role, a connection? Does God have any part whatsoever in the circumstances surrounding and/or leading to the death of a child-whether by prolonged illness, death by violence, suicide or accident?
When there is reason for joy, we celebrate by praising and thanking God for His abundant blessings. It seems so right! So spontaneously easy! “Baruch Ha Shem!” Blessed be God’s Name for having bestowed such blessings upon me (us)!
What of the other extreme of life … when the "why" of a child’s death fails to elicit a satisfactory response! When this most unparalleled of tragedies turns the relative comfort of our untested emunah upside down, whereupon it is genuinely challenged, put to the test, steeled in the fiery furnace, if we then can still thoughtfully respond “Baruch Ha Shem”-even if not immediately-I dare say there is no other challenge that we couldn’t squarely face and overcome.
These thoughts occured to me after having seen the film Ushpizin-a story very much about emunah, bitachon and the efficacy of prayer in the lives of a Chassidische couple who by film’s end-having prayed for and patiently awaited a pregnancy-can profusely celebrate the birth and bris milah of their son for whom they thank God abundantly!
At life’s opposite end is a friend’s story of her eighteen-year old daughter whose dramatically determined but futile struggle against leukemia is lovingly told by her mother. Though seemingly diametrically opposed, these two stories: one of long-awaited birth, the other of long anticipated death, are linked by a common denominator … hope.
Hope is the great enabler. It sustains us both physically and emotionally when most needed-at a time when all seems lost, when prayer seems ineffective or the empirical data suggest an end nearer in time than we might have thought. Hope is the most stubborn defender of “lost causes”; it goes hand in hand with belief and trust in a divine agency whose tether to human affairs may seem at times either cut off entirely or worn and frayed.
What has any of this to do with Ben? Quite a lot actually! As any infertile couple will tell you after finally conceiving, children are a gift! A gift though that is received with no guarantees attached; ours is to nurture, guide and love our children for as long as we have them. Bereft parents can attest to how variable that time can be.
Is it not essential that as Jews we freely and gladly acknowledge God’s indispensable role in bringing forth new life? Can anyone truthfully attribute the conception, gestation and birth of a baby to woman and man alone as if the process of human sexual reproduction were not perhaps the most fundamental example of God’s handiwork? Do we not speak of three partners in procreation: woman, man and God? Why is it that we can so freely say “Thank God!” upon the birth of a child whereas upon the death of a child … our understanding of God’s role becomes inherently much more problematic. Furthermore, can we even presume such a role, a connection? Does God have any part whatsoever in the circumstances surrounding and/or leading to the death of a child-whether by prolonged illness, death by violence, suicide or accident?
When there is reason for joy, we celebrate by praising and thanking God for His abundant blessings. It seems so right! So spontaneously easy! “Baruch Ha Shem!” Blessed be God’s Name for having bestowed such blessings upon me (us)!
What of the other extreme of life … when the "why" of a child’s death fails to elicit a satisfactory response! When this most unparalleled of tragedies turns the relative comfort of our untested emunah upside down, whereupon it is genuinely challenged, put to the test, steeled in the fiery furnace, if we then can still thoughtfully respond “Baruch Ha Shem”-even if not immediately-I dare say there is no other challenge that we couldn’t squarely face and overcome.
These thoughts occured to me after having seen the film Ushpizin-a story very much about emunah, bitachon and the efficacy of prayer in the lives of a Chassidische couple who by film’s end-having prayed for and patiently awaited a pregnancy-can profusely celebrate the birth and bris milah of their son for whom they thank God abundantly!
At life’s opposite end is a friend’s story of her eighteen-year old daughter whose dramatically determined but futile struggle against leukemia is lovingly told by her mother. Though seemingly diametrically opposed, these two stories: one of long-awaited birth, the other of long anticipated death, are linked by a common denominator … hope.
Hope is the great enabler. It sustains us both physically and emotionally when most needed-at a time when all seems lost, when prayer seems ineffective or the empirical data suggest an end nearer in time than we might have thought. Hope is the most stubborn defender of “lost causes”; it goes hand in hand with belief and trust in a divine agency whose tether to human affairs may seem at times either cut off entirely or worn and frayed.
What has any of this to do with Ben? Quite a lot actually! As any infertile couple will tell you after finally conceiving, children are a gift! A gift though that is received with no guarantees attached; ours is to nurture, guide and love our children for as long as we have them. Bereft parents can attest to how variable that time can be.
Thursday, December 08, 2005
I do not know who first penned this wonderfully poignant, prayerful poem; its verses are few but powerful in their wisdom. This is one of those good things you've heard about; you know ... the ones that come in small packages or, if you like, a virtual blueprint of parenting-especially for younger parents just starting out.
I've always loved it and have carried it in my head and heart for nearly thirty years though I often wonder how well or badly I measured up during my own early parenting years ...
"Oh give me patience when tiny hands
Take a really close look at your young children's hands ...are they not amazingly tiny and beautiful? Everyone I hope has either experienced or seen a baby grasp with its whole hand but one grownup finger! My favorite fingers belong to my daughter Kimmy; they are beautifully long and slender, and I've loved them ever since I first beheld them upon her caming into this world! I kid you not ... that her fingers were what first caught my eye.
tug at me with their small demands,
I recall Ben trying to redirect that forkful of dinner away from mine and into his own mouth, seated as he was upon my knee and apparently under the erroneous impression that I was to feed him only!
and give me gentle and smiling eyes,
May your eyes mirror the heartfelt joy of your child's achievement; in other words, let your eyes always see and be seen as they were when you witnessed that first baby step! May they always "remember" that moment!
keep my lips from sharp replies.
Teach by example of speech ... moderation, patience of tone and content. Guard thy tongue for once having spoken ... well, the efficacy of "retraction" is entirely fictitious.
and let not confusion, fatigue or noise
Child rearing can be and is often raucous, enervating and frustrating at times ... step back!
obscure my vision of life's fleeting joys ...
Don't ever pass up an opportunity to smell a flower with a child or watch a butterfly flutter about!
so when years later my house is stll,
You know they'll fly from the nest one day! While there, keep it cozy, warm and welcoming!
no bitter memories its room may fill.
May our parenting mistakes be few and minor in nature so that our children will return to the nest with their fledglings in tow! If you make it this far, commence
*KVELLING!
*Kvelling ... when your heart pounds with pride and joy upon witnessing your child's accomplishments.
Sunday, December 04, 2005
A post by ASimpleJew, showing cobblestones from the Warsaw Ghetto, motivated me to revise some old poems-one of which I feature here that I wrote about the desecration of the Skokie, Il. Holocaust memorial one day after it was unveiled some twenty or so years ago.
I dedicate these words to Ben Z"L who years ago loved dispatching cyber nazis on the Play Station 2 game ...
Wolfenstein.
*Kiddush Ha Shem ... courageously they went
**kedoshim whose strength, was ... heavensent.
"Never Again" we were reminded once and for all.
Hear our voices that day when we call.
Hatred's reminder, its venom's insatiable aim,
to weigh upon humanity’s complicity, its guilt and shame.
Atop the engraved mount, in bronze there only remain
remnants of the countless so savagely slain:
a mother in whose arms death lies still
an old Jew and boy's hearts terror does fill;
a partisan fighter whose gestures ignite
but one spark of the hope which flickered by night .
Amidst the rubble of days … what once had been
through out the ages a beacon for men ...
the Torah commanding us: "Thou Shalt Not Kill",
though abandoned in ruins, so applicable still
to our lives which came after so relatively free
of terror's ability to blind us who see.
Now tearful, silently stoic first gaze
while vigilance slept, its fires not ablaze ...
Nary a night did pass ere the evil befell,
and reminded, we were all, of heaven and hell.
Now gone were the tears that had welcomed its sight,
but ready were the many to stand and fight
an ugly reminder whose obscenities told
of times long ago and graves since cold.
Aroused and awakened this community alert,
whose monument remained defiled to see
that history was not over …
as they had hoped it might be.
A garden became this memorial soon,
and erased were the lies ...
that had blackened the truth
Dignity Restored its shiny gloss ...
all its words read of six million's loss.
Still erect it stands there with neither doubt nor shame,
as history's reminder to memories so lame ...
that even those departed must struggle to hone
the spade that will dig out this spot as their own.
*Kiddush Ha Shem ... Sanctification of the Name (of God)
**Kedoshim ... Holy Martyrs
Monday, November 28, 2005
Measurement … Memory
I am always astounded by how many folk haven’t the foggiest idea about feet and yards. The fact that “50 yards” equals “150 feet” simply eludes them. Now perhaps they were asleep that day in physical science when Mr. Brown explicated between feet and yards, yards and meters and that one inch equals “2.54” centimeters; or it just may be that all of us measure things differently, and that these differing modes of measurement reflect varying and diverse choices, attitudes and approaches to life.
Earlier today, just as I was leaving a local restaurant, I noticed upon the exit doorway that someone had scrawled a rather crude height chart. Customers could measure their height upon leaving; perhaps that amenity in addition to the quality of the food, I supposed, might motivate the more “height-conscious” customers to come back again. Once outside, Zac, my younger son, with whom I had just finished lunch (and who has helped me before with suggestions and remembrances) remarked that back home at his mom’s house, my old marital residence, there could still be seen the old pencil marks that his mom and I made just above Ben’s head when we would periodically measure his growth. I marveled at this recollection-not only with respect to its literal content-but with the realization that our minds store so many inactive memories which require no more than a simple “pinprick” of stimulation to recall them to living memory. Here was such an instance-a very real memory suddenly recalled to consciousness-that had lain dormant for at least fifteen years.
The very phenomenon of “memory” itself, I suppose, seems so utterly inexplicable: its chemistry, its mechanics baffling, but however unknowable or even mysterious the workings of human memory may seem, that alone should not deter us from being awestruck by what it allows us to do-to ‘re-collect’. Just imagine how regrettably one-dimensional life would be without ‘recollection’! Not unlike what the “replay” is to televised sports, ‘recollection’ permits us an opportunity to experience the moment again. To gather up anew, to pick up the scattered pieces, to be able to live an event “geometrically”, as it were, revolving the sphere of life around and again in one’s mind’s eye … that all of its angles might be examined.
I can by virtue of ‘recollection’ enjoy how it was that Ben, when but barely a toddler-dressed in but a diaper and one of those ‘snap on’ button undershirts- absconded with his grandpa’s, my dad’s unlit, empty pipe and scurried away to the front room. Some minutes later, having discovered that dad’s pipe was missing, we found Ben, pipe in mouth, comfortably situated within the mouth of the fake fireplace in our apartment! Attached to this recollection is yet another … I can still very clearly “see” the utter joy on my dad’s face when our little pipe thief’s whereabouts were discovered!
How does one measure the memory of an individual? Rabbi Louis answers the question …
"In spite of being afflicted with many illnesses and life threatening problems, he was always positive. I always saw him with a broad and handsome smile on his face and always saw hope and optimism in his eyes. He taught us to be able to continue in spite of adversity, a lesson we need to relearn even more every day now that we are apart from him."
I am always astounded by how many folk haven’t the foggiest idea about feet and yards. The fact that “50 yards” equals “150 feet” simply eludes them. Now perhaps they were asleep that day in physical science when Mr. Brown explicated between feet and yards, yards and meters and that one inch equals “2.54” centimeters; or it just may be that all of us measure things differently, and that these differing modes of measurement reflect varying and diverse choices, attitudes and approaches to life.
Earlier today, just as I was leaving a local restaurant, I noticed upon the exit doorway that someone had scrawled a rather crude height chart. Customers could measure their height upon leaving; perhaps that amenity in addition to the quality of the food, I supposed, might motivate the more “height-conscious” customers to come back again. Once outside, Zac, my younger son, with whom I had just finished lunch (and who has helped me before with suggestions and remembrances) remarked that back home at his mom’s house, my old marital residence, there could still be seen the old pencil marks that his mom and I made just above Ben’s head when we would periodically measure his growth. I marveled at this recollection-not only with respect to its literal content-but with the realization that our minds store so many inactive memories which require no more than a simple “pinprick” of stimulation to recall them to living memory. Here was such an instance-a very real memory suddenly recalled to consciousness-that had lain dormant for at least fifteen years.
The very phenomenon of “memory” itself, I suppose, seems so utterly inexplicable: its chemistry, its mechanics baffling, but however unknowable or even mysterious the workings of human memory may seem, that alone should not deter us from being awestruck by what it allows us to do-to ‘re-collect’. Just imagine how regrettably one-dimensional life would be without ‘recollection’! Not unlike what the “replay” is to televised sports, ‘recollection’ permits us an opportunity to experience the moment again. To gather up anew, to pick up the scattered pieces, to be able to live an event “geometrically”, as it were, revolving the sphere of life around and again in one’s mind’s eye … that all of its angles might be examined.
I can by virtue of ‘recollection’ enjoy how it was that Ben, when but barely a toddler-dressed in but a diaper and one of those ‘snap on’ button undershirts- absconded with his grandpa’s, my dad’s unlit, empty pipe and scurried away to the front room. Some minutes later, having discovered that dad’s pipe was missing, we found Ben, pipe in mouth, comfortably situated within the mouth of the fake fireplace in our apartment! Attached to this recollection is yet another … I can still very clearly “see” the utter joy on my dad’s face when our little pipe thief’s whereabouts were discovered!
How does one measure the memory of an individual? Rabbi Louis answers the question …
"In spite of being afflicted with many illnesses and life threatening problems, he was always positive. I always saw him with a broad and handsome smile on his face and always saw hope and optimism in his eyes. He taught us to be able to continue in spite of adversity, a lesson we need to relearn even more every day now that we are apart from him."
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
Everyday is a Thanksgiving: Balance and Order, November 22, 2005: Five Years to the Day that Ben Died (on the secular calendar)
As much as I do appreciate and celebrate Thanksgiving as an American, I am especially reminded by today that with each and every sunrise, we witness a Jewish “thanksgiving”-that begins with upon our awakening: “Modei ani lefanecha …” (I give thanks to You …)
What distinguishes “Jewish thanksgiving” from the fourth Thursday in November is not only that we give thanks *“yom yom”-each and every day, and this is, I really think, the essence of the matter, that Jewish prayer praises The One Above even and most importantly in the face of affliction, misfortune and tragedy. However, let’s be clear on this point! It isn’t because we welcome any of the above; rather should any of life’s dark clouds gather overhead, we are automatically faced with a challenge that we either overcome or notwithstanding face a very precipitous, personal decline.
Frankly, we haven’t really much latitude in these matters if we examine them closely. On the one hand, we are free to follow the path of bitterness, cynicism and anger-leading one eventually to misanthropy and self-loathing-both of which are merely reflections of hatred for God. Conversely and, as strange as it may seem to some, we can declare:
“Hodu la Adoshem ki tov, ki le’olam chasdo”-(“Praise The One Above because He is good-because His kindness is eternal.”)
Herein lies the key, I think … that I’ll illustrate with the following example. However, I’ll preface by saying that though things do invariably turn out for the best-even and especially when our outlook seems so bleak- they are often times at first not always so apparent and self-evident as how today turned out for me.
I received an email today from a dear friend who wrote:
Dear Alan...you are in my thoughts and prayers today. I know what you are thinking about, and that you are missing Ben. I remembered that it was five years ago...an eternity, but as if only yesterday, for you. He was a beautiful boy, who wanted so much to be his own man...and he was. How else could he have endured so much, and yet still, was willing to give so much of himself? The true measure of a man, is to be able to love unconditionally...and he did...and you did, even though you may feel, in retrospect, that it took awhile for you to finally reach that stage. I said "may feel", and "finally", Alan, because I know that you ALWAYS loved Ben unconditionally. The times that you were embarrassed by some of the ways that Ben chose to express himself, were only that...an embarrassment...not a failure on Ben's part, or yours. You only wanted what was best for Ben...what you thought was best. That kind of love is the greatest gift that anyone can ever give or receive...and you and Ben gave that gift to each other.
Jan
Now I do admit that I was somewhat befuddled by the timing of the note, but as I was busy at work I let it go for later. Well, “later” arrived and at Starbucks tonight a close friend asked me: “So, how was your today?” It was precisely then that it hit me, the timing of the email; today marked in fact the five year secular anniversary of my son’s passing on November 22, 2000 which fell out in the year 2000 as the day before Thanksgiving, and that is how I think of it-not so much that Ben left us on the 22nd of November but rather on the day before Thanksgiving!
In keeping with my theme that there is-as a general principle-balance and order in our world and lives although they may quite often seem so much at the mercy of random collisions of reality.
“What is your proof?” you may ask. Well, as I am no scientist whose proof’s reliability is dependent upon laboratory duplication, I can only offer up as “proof” what news I learned from my daughter Kimmy who called me today, the 22nd day of November, with an excitement and glee in her voice that struck the balance that was needed to complete this day, to round it out as it were, to make the circle whole.
“Daddy, I got a job as a lawyer in a downtown firm! I’ll have an office with a view from the 39th floor overlooking downtown. It’s just what I wanted!”
That I feel pretty much sums up what happened today-a day when divine balance and even-handedness manifested themselves very dramatically-when a bad day five years ago became a better day today!
As much as I do appreciate and celebrate Thanksgiving as an American, I am especially reminded by today that with each and every sunrise, we witness a Jewish “thanksgiving”-that begins with upon our awakening: “Modei ani lefanecha …” (I give thanks to You …)
What distinguishes “Jewish thanksgiving” from the fourth Thursday in November is not only that we give thanks *“yom yom”-each and every day, and this is, I really think, the essence of the matter, that Jewish prayer praises The One Above even and most importantly in the face of affliction, misfortune and tragedy. However, let’s be clear on this point! It isn’t because we welcome any of the above; rather should any of life’s dark clouds gather overhead, we are automatically faced with a challenge that we either overcome or notwithstanding face a very precipitous, personal decline.
Frankly, we haven’t really much latitude in these matters if we examine them closely. On the one hand, we are free to follow the path of bitterness, cynicism and anger-leading one eventually to misanthropy and self-loathing-both of which are merely reflections of hatred for God. Conversely and, as strange as it may seem to some, we can declare:
“Hodu la Adoshem ki tov, ki le’olam chasdo”-(“Praise The One Above because He is good-because His kindness is eternal.”)
Herein lies the key, I think … that I’ll illustrate with the following example. However, I’ll preface by saying that though things do invariably turn out for the best-even and especially when our outlook seems so bleak- they are often times at first not always so apparent and self-evident as how today turned out for me.
I received an email today from a dear friend who wrote:
Dear Alan...you are in my thoughts and prayers today. I know what you are thinking about, and that you are missing Ben. I remembered that it was five years ago...an eternity, but as if only yesterday, for you. He was a beautiful boy, who wanted so much to be his own man...and he was. How else could he have endured so much, and yet still, was willing to give so much of himself? The true measure of a man, is to be able to love unconditionally...and he did...and you did, even though you may feel, in retrospect, that it took awhile for you to finally reach that stage. I said "may feel", and "finally", Alan, because I know that you ALWAYS loved Ben unconditionally. The times that you were embarrassed by some of the ways that Ben chose to express himself, were only that...an embarrassment...not a failure on Ben's part, or yours. You only wanted what was best for Ben...what you thought was best. That kind of love is the greatest gift that anyone can ever give or receive...and you and Ben gave that gift to each other.
Jan
Now I do admit that I was somewhat befuddled by the timing of the note, but as I was busy at work I let it go for later. Well, “later” arrived and at Starbucks tonight a close friend asked me: “So, how was your today?” It was precisely then that it hit me, the timing of the email; today marked in fact the five year secular anniversary of my son’s passing on November 22, 2000 which fell out in the year 2000 as the day before Thanksgiving, and that is how I think of it-not so much that Ben left us on the 22nd of November but rather on the day before Thanksgiving!
In keeping with my theme that there is-as a general principle-balance and order in our world and lives although they may quite often seem so much at the mercy of random collisions of reality.
“What is your proof?” you may ask. Well, as I am no scientist whose proof’s reliability is dependent upon laboratory duplication, I can only offer up as “proof” what news I learned from my daughter Kimmy who called me today, the 22nd day of November, with an excitement and glee in her voice that struck the balance that was needed to complete this day, to round it out as it were, to make the circle whole.
“Daddy, I got a job as a lawyer in a downtown firm! I’ll have an office with a view from the 39th floor overlooking downtown. It’s just what I wanted!”
That I feel pretty much sums up what happened today-a day when divine balance and even-handedness manifested themselves very dramatically-when a bad day five years ago became a better day today!
Thursday, November 17, 2005
No More Pictures
There are moments when I feel at a complete loss for any more words. On the one hand, I certainly do not want to end up repeating myself; the search for the hidden memory is frequently elusive and always frustrating! On the other hand, there just has to be more! There just has to be! I suppose there will come a time when I’ll be finished-when what I have managed to recover and write by that point will have left me with a satisfactory sense of closure.
For the now, I've decided to recall a few of Ben's facial features that so wonderfully defined him as ... himself:
a. Ben's earlobes were ... kind of ... angled out.
b. He had a slightly noticeable 'oriental' fold in the inner corner of each eye.
c. His blue eyes and naturally blonde hair naturally complemented each other-both of which he inherited from his mom.
d. His sparse growth of beard he inherited from me ... thankfully! (He often commented that he and I were so alike in that respect.)
e. His cheeks were full and soft and even with the appearance of whiskers, I never tired of kissing them. (I was just doing as my father did and still does to me ... having no compunction about kissing his adult son.)
f. He had slight dimples in both cheeks.
g. His nose had a slight rise in the middle.
h. He had a full lower lip, rather heavy eyebrows and very straight eyelashes angled downward.
Ben was indeed a handsome lad but more important than the wonderful shape of his nose, his sparkling blue eyes or his dimples … was his gentle nature as a loving, kind and considerate son. His mom always rightly characterized him as a “peacemaker”, the kind of person for whom *“shalom bayit” was nothing less than an inherent extension of his personality.
Just a glance back to the summer of 1993- when Ben first attended Olin Sang Ruby Hebrew Union Institute just a few short weeks after having been diagnosed with juvenile diabetes- clearly demonstrates what a remarkable kid he really was! I, on the other hand, was a “basketcase” despite the assurances by the camp nurse that she would keep a close eye on him, as I know she did; Ben’s mom had things under much better control than I, but I dare say she was more than just a tiny bit nervous herself and Ben-with his usual aplomb-set about confidently reassuring mostly me that all would be just fine. Did it put me at ease? No! It did not, but was Ben right about how well things would turn out? Yes, he was and, as a matter of fact, he did not experience any diabetes–related difficulties during the whole of his month-long stay at camp.
Not long before, just several weeks prior to the start of camp, Ben’s mom and I first noticed the tell-tale signs of his diabetes, but at that time, we did not know or have any idea about what in fact would soon turn our lives completely upside down. One evening we were sitting in the front room when he came down from his room for no apparent reason. Perhaps it was just to sit with us or watch a movie when his mom first mentioned that she had noticed how thin and drawn he was looking of late but largely attributed it to the physical changes brought about by adolescence. I do remember the rather noticeable dark bags under Ben’s eyes and how thin he had become, but what really alarmed us was the frequency with which he was urinating. As it happened he was due at that time to receive his physical exam in advance of the start of the camping season.
The day of his physical … it was not even several minutes into the physical before Ben’s pediatrician diagnosed him with type 1 juvenile diabetes and ordered his immediate admission into Children’s Memorial Hospital in Chicago. Our timing was fortuitous if not almost dangerously late for-as it turned out-Ben’s blood sugars were so high that he was spilling sugar into his urine, a potentially life threatening situation.
Ben’s first endocrinologist was a staff member at Children’s whose bedside manner was as icy as Lake Michigan’s shoreline about December or so. All that we really sought were … naturally answers! Why? How? I mean … after all neither of us had any history of type 1 juvenile diabetes in our families, although there were several cousins on my side who in their later years had contracted adult onset type 2 diabetes, but that was hardly relevant to Ben’s case … so we were told. Then how was it that this had come to pass? Oh! How well I remember this one doctor’s response …
“GENETIC PREDISPOSITION”.
“What doctor?”
“Genetic predisposition,” he repeated clinically.
“And that is what?” we queried.
“Meaning that he is genetically predisposed to something like this.”
“Hmm.”
And then he mentioned something about the possibility of milk triggering a virus that attacks the pancreas … something like that?!
I just wish he had said, “You know something? Honestly, we just don’t know!”
Before Ben could leave the hospital, all three of us had to demonstrate that we knew how and were able to inject him with insulin. I can assure you that that is no easy thing … well, at least for me it wasn’t, but I did finally get it while Ben’s nurse stood by watching. Frankly, I think I closed my eyes. Ben and his mom … well, no problem.
*shalom bayit … peace in the home.
There are moments when I feel at a complete loss for any more words. On the one hand, I certainly do not want to end up repeating myself; the search for the hidden memory is frequently elusive and always frustrating! On the other hand, there just has to be more! There just has to be! I suppose there will come a time when I’ll be finished-when what I have managed to recover and write by that point will have left me with a satisfactory sense of closure.
For the now, I've decided to recall a few of Ben's facial features that so wonderfully defined him as ... himself:
a. Ben's earlobes were ... kind of ... angled out.
b. He had a slightly noticeable 'oriental' fold in the inner corner of each eye.
c. His blue eyes and naturally blonde hair naturally complemented each other-both of which he inherited from his mom.
d. His sparse growth of beard he inherited from me ... thankfully! (He often commented that he and I were so alike in that respect.)
e. His cheeks were full and soft and even with the appearance of whiskers, I never tired of kissing them. (I was just doing as my father did and still does to me ... having no compunction about kissing his adult son.)
f. He had slight dimples in both cheeks.
g. His nose had a slight rise in the middle.
h. He had a full lower lip, rather heavy eyebrows and very straight eyelashes angled downward.
Ben was indeed a handsome lad but more important than the wonderful shape of his nose, his sparkling blue eyes or his dimples … was his gentle nature as a loving, kind and considerate son. His mom always rightly characterized him as a “peacemaker”, the kind of person for whom *“shalom bayit” was nothing less than an inherent extension of his personality.
Just a glance back to the summer of 1993- when Ben first attended Olin Sang Ruby Hebrew Union Institute just a few short weeks after having been diagnosed with juvenile diabetes- clearly demonstrates what a remarkable kid he really was! I, on the other hand, was a “basketcase” despite the assurances by the camp nurse that she would keep a close eye on him, as I know she did; Ben’s mom had things under much better control than I, but I dare say she was more than just a tiny bit nervous herself and Ben-with his usual aplomb-set about confidently reassuring mostly me that all would be just fine. Did it put me at ease? No! It did not, but was Ben right about how well things would turn out? Yes, he was and, as a matter of fact, he did not experience any diabetes–related difficulties during the whole of his month-long stay at camp.
Not long before, just several weeks prior to the start of camp, Ben’s mom and I first noticed the tell-tale signs of his diabetes, but at that time, we did not know or have any idea about what in fact would soon turn our lives completely upside down. One evening we were sitting in the front room when he came down from his room for no apparent reason. Perhaps it was just to sit with us or watch a movie when his mom first mentioned that she had noticed how thin and drawn he was looking of late but largely attributed it to the physical changes brought about by adolescence. I do remember the rather noticeable dark bags under Ben’s eyes and how thin he had become, but what really alarmed us was the frequency with which he was urinating. As it happened he was due at that time to receive his physical exam in advance of the start of the camping season.
The day of his physical … it was not even several minutes into the physical before Ben’s pediatrician diagnosed him with type 1 juvenile diabetes and ordered his immediate admission into Children’s Memorial Hospital in Chicago. Our timing was fortuitous if not almost dangerously late for-as it turned out-Ben’s blood sugars were so high that he was spilling sugar into his urine, a potentially life threatening situation.
Ben’s first endocrinologist was a staff member at Children’s whose bedside manner was as icy as Lake Michigan’s shoreline about December or so. All that we really sought were … naturally answers! Why? How? I mean … after all neither of us had any history of type 1 juvenile diabetes in our families, although there were several cousins on my side who in their later years had contracted adult onset type 2 diabetes, but that was hardly relevant to Ben’s case … so we were told. Then how was it that this had come to pass? Oh! How well I remember this one doctor’s response …
“GENETIC PREDISPOSITION”.
“What doctor?”
“Genetic predisposition,” he repeated clinically.
“And that is what?” we queried.
“Meaning that he is genetically predisposed to something like this.”
“Hmm.”
And then he mentioned something about the possibility of milk triggering a virus that attacks the pancreas … something like that?!
I just wish he had said, “You know something? Honestly, we just don’t know!”
Before Ben could leave the hospital, all three of us had to demonstrate that we knew how and were able to inject him with insulin. I can assure you that that is no easy thing … well, at least for me it wasn’t, but I did finally get it while Ben’s nurse stood by watching. Frankly, I think I closed my eyes. Ben and his mom … well, no problem.
*shalom bayit … peace in the home.
Saturday, November 12, 2005
Reflections on Gordon Livingston’s Book On Spring …
Imagine if you can the trauma and turmoil that are wrought by the process of a six-year old child’s dying and death! Imagine if you can the failed effort of every medical treatment known at the time … leaving as a last resort only the power of both individual and communal prayer. Such was the dreadful dilemma faced by Dr. Gordon and Clare Livingston about which Gordon writes so very beautifully in his memoir/diary, a compelling tale of Lucas, a young boy's heroic but futile battle against leukemia as chronicled by his father.
Even with the most genuinely sincere of supplicants, prayer remains, at best, a risky business! Think of it … a sole human being pleading with the Master of the Universe to intervene mercifully, to reverse the evil decree that has befallen his life or that of his children. As so many of us tragically discover, His answer turns out NOT to be the one we sought; that the death of a child may well leave one’s tentative faith in shambles, capable of even turning an agnostic’s doubt into the cold, unfeeling cynicism of the atheist. It’s often wondered … just how it is that God works; does He respond to supplications as simply and directly as when we respond to a child’s request for a snack before dinner? In the latter case, it is either a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ … it’s that simple! I suspect, however, that matters are far less simple with God; Dr. Livingston finally resolves the apparent conundrum of his son’s death with the faith and trust in Him that he so desperately seeks:
‘Why is it that God makes it so difficult to believe in Him? … it is when I face the despair of my loss … that, like Job, I am tempted to ‘curse God and die.’ … but in saying this, I acknowledge his existence ... "
I do wonder if there is any discernible difference between the experience of those bereaved parents who witnessed the process of their child’s death over a course of time as opposed to what I experienced in Ben’s case when the end came suddenly without any opportunity to assimilate the reality during the very short time-just several hours-while it sped along its irreversible course. In cases such as mine the assimilation comes after the fact if it comes at all though-as I have discussed previously-I had long had a premonition of what would eventually befall us.
I told Ben on many occasions that I would unhesitatingly trade places with him; I’d give of my own body anything that would heal him, and like me and, I strongly suspect, all parents in similar circumstances, in struggling to respond to the question of "why Lucas?"-when put to him by his young daughter Emily-Dr. Livingston responded simply that he just did not know-as did I to Ben on our walk home from Walgreens that one afternoon.
I think it’s probably true that those afflicted by either chronic and/or especially life threatening illness and-who have already come to terms with their imminent mortality-take on a new role-that of comforter of those who are just beginning to enter the pre-death phase of mourning/grief-when realistically speaking it is no longer a question of ‘if’, only of ‘when’. Dr. Livingston cites an example of this when a very sick Lucas tried to comfort his mom who-in trying to have blood drawn for a possible transplant-was stuck repeatedly by the venipuncture technician who was having trouble finding an adequate vein. In like manner, I learned from my daughter that Ben did this very same kindness for her as well; having, I believe, fully acknowledged his mortality, he sought to comfort her, an act that assured me that his mom and I had succeeded in raising a *“ba’al chesed”.
*an individual who by his very nature bestows acts of loving-kindness upon others.
With Whom I Never Grieved
“Almost as gut retching as watching Ben leave forever was that now his mom had to be told. She had just arrived from work, having had to drive a far greater distance than I. I was led to a room opposite the emergency room where she sat awaiting news. Accompanied by my dad and Rabbi Louis, I approached her. My younger son Zac sat off to his mom's right. Several of Ben's buddies were there too. It was they whom I later learned had brought Zac to the hospital.
"Ben is gone!" I cried out placing my forehead upon the top of her head.
Only from a bereaved mother can there be heard such a primal moan, a ghastly utterance of pain! I shall never forget its sound!” (excerpted from my chapter "The Last Time")
Such was the only moment, the one singular experience that I’ve ever had of genuinely, whole-heartedly grieving with Ben’s mom … just a few minutes after Ben’s death. It took place on Wednesday, November 22, 2000 at about 2:00 p.m. in a waiting room just opposite the ER in Cook County Hospital and was witnessed but by a few family members and friends: my dad, my younger son Zac, several of Ben’s closest buddies, and Rabbi Louis. Unlike the subsequent funeral arrangements, the memorial service, at the graveside and ‘shiva’ at Ben’s mom’s house-which were all public events and, as such, marked by the presence of countless other mourners-that one brief, very nearly private, but shared outpouring with Ben’s mom was and remains to this day, nearly five years later, the only instance when-but for a fleeting moment-we, Ben’s mom and I, suffered the crushing pain of co-bereavement.
Mention of this has been on my mind for some while now, but it only took real shape upon reading a passage in Dr. Gordon Livingston’s book Only Spring in which the author comments upon the differences between how it was that he and his wife Clare grieved upon the death of their son Lucas from leukemia:
‘I need to be more tolerant of these differences between us. We have lost our son; we must not lose each other.’
Just as there are many experiential differences between the bereavement following a child’s long-term illness as opposed to that of sudden death, … so there must be parallel differences between married parents’ bereavement and that of those lone parents who have divorced. Unlike the myriad stories of post-bereavement marital dysfunction due in large measure, I think, to how differently men and women grieve, I have never really known how Ben’s mom has coped; naturally I have wished her well all along, but we have each borne this burden alone from the other. However, it just may be that the situation of divorced parents is the less difficult of the two; while so many married couples find their marriage foundering upon the reef of a child’s death, divorced parents-often in the process of both redefining and reshaping their lives-may be able to cope more productively and directly with the enormity of their grief without the additional challenge of saving a troubled marriage.
Five Years Ago …
The Jewish month of Cheshvan is said to be ‘bitter’ because it has no “yamim tovim”-no holidays except the weekly celebrations of the Sabbath, and consequently Cheshvan is often called *Mar Cheshvan.
My experience is that it is even more so, bitterer … because it happens that its 24th day marks the anniversary of Ben’s death, and when we arrive at that day this year, we will look back upon five years and wonder how well-if at all-we’ll still be able to glimpse his countenance.
I’ve been looking back for some time now and recall how often I would remind Ben that he keep an eye to the future, to look beyond the moment, so as to be able to peer down the road and see ‘whither he was tending.’ I don’t really know if Ben ever acted upon my advice beyond his oft-repeated reassurances that he did understand and would keep it in mind. Truthfully, whether or not he even knew this about himself, but Ben lived his life by and for the moment; his life was supremely of the present tense-a person whose wristwatch read ‘is’ rather than either ‘was’ or ‘will be’.
I’m not quite sure what it is about the number ‘five’ that seems to have brought about these feelings which I’ll characterize as melancholic … feelings that are becoming more acute as the anniversary of that dreadful day approaches. For the first time since Ben’s death, I have chosen to remain unshaven during the whole of this bitter month-as a visible reminder of this difficult time of the year … as if to magnify the sadness I feel … not so much that I am getting older as that Ben isn’t. He remains forever young.
Imagine if you can the trauma and turmoil that are wrought by the process of a six-year old child’s dying and death! Imagine if you can the failed effort of every medical treatment known at the time … leaving as a last resort only the power of both individual and communal prayer. Such was the dreadful dilemma faced by Dr. Gordon and Clare Livingston about which Gordon writes so very beautifully in his memoir/diary, a compelling tale of Lucas, a young boy's heroic but futile battle against leukemia as chronicled by his father.
Even with the most genuinely sincere of supplicants, prayer remains, at best, a risky business! Think of it … a sole human being pleading with the Master of the Universe to intervene mercifully, to reverse the evil decree that has befallen his life or that of his children. As so many of us tragically discover, His answer turns out NOT to be the one we sought; that the death of a child may well leave one’s tentative faith in shambles, capable of even turning an agnostic’s doubt into the cold, unfeeling cynicism of the atheist. It’s often wondered … just how it is that God works; does He respond to supplications as simply and directly as when we respond to a child’s request for a snack before dinner? In the latter case, it is either a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ … it’s that simple! I suspect, however, that matters are far less simple with God; Dr. Livingston finally resolves the apparent conundrum of his son’s death with the faith and trust in Him that he so desperately seeks:
‘Why is it that God makes it so difficult to believe in Him? … it is when I face the despair of my loss … that, like Job, I am tempted to ‘curse God and die.’ … but in saying this, I acknowledge his existence ... "
I do wonder if there is any discernible difference between the experience of those bereaved parents who witnessed the process of their child’s death over a course of time as opposed to what I experienced in Ben’s case when the end came suddenly without any opportunity to assimilate the reality during the very short time-just several hours-while it sped along its irreversible course. In cases such as mine the assimilation comes after the fact if it comes at all though-as I have discussed previously-I had long had a premonition of what would eventually befall us.
I told Ben on many occasions that I would unhesitatingly trade places with him; I’d give of my own body anything that would heal him, and like me and, I strongly suspect, all parents in similar circumstances, in struggling to respond to the question of "why Lucas?"-when put to him by his young daughter Emily-Dr. Livingston responded simply that he just did not know-as did I to Ben on our walk home from Walgreens that one afternoon.
I think it’s probably true that those afflicted by either chronic and/or especially life threatening illness and-who have already come to terms with their imminent mortality-take on a new role-that of comforter of those who are just beginning to enter the pre-death phase of mourning/grief-when realistically speaking it is no longer a question of ‘if’, only of ‘when’. Dr. Livingston cites an example of this when a very sick Lucas tried to comfort his mom who-in trying to have blood drawn for a possible transplant-was stuck repeatedly by the venipuncture technician who was having trouble finding an adequate vein. In like manner, I learned from my daughter that Ben did this very same kindness for her as well; having, I believe, fully acknowledged his mortality, he sought to comfort her, an act that assured me that his mom and I had succeeded in raising a *“ba’al chesed”.
*an individual who by his very nature bestows acts of loving-kindness upon others.
With Whom I Never Grieved
“Almost as gut retching as watching Ben leave forever was that now his mom had to be told. She had just arrived from work, having had to drive a far greater distance than I. I was led to a room opposite the emergency room where she sat awaiting news. Accompanied by my dad and Rabbi Louis, I approached her. My younger son Zac sat off to his mom's right. Several of Ben's buddies were there too. It was they whom I later learned had brought Zac to the hospital.
"Ben is gone!" I cried out placing my forehead upon the top of her head.
Only from a bereaved mother can there be heard such a primal moan, a ghastly utterance of pain! I shall never forget its sound!” (excerpted from my chapter "The Last Time")
Such was the only moment, the one singular experience that I’ve ever had of genuinely, whole-heartedly grieving with Ben’s mom … just a few minutes after Ben’s death. It took place on Wednesday, November 22, 2000 at about 2:00 p.m. in a waiting room just opposite the ER in Cook County Hospital and was witnessed but by a few family members and friends: my dad, my younger son Zac, several of Ben’s closest buddies, and Rabbi Louis. Unlike the subsequent funeral arrangements, the memorial service, at the graveside and ‘shiva’ at Ben’s mom’s house-which were all public events and, as such, marked by the presence of countless other mourners-that one brief, very nearly private, but shared outpouring with Ben’s mom was and remains to this day, nearly five years later, the only instance when-but for a fleeting moment-we, Ben’s mom and I, suffered the crushing pain of co-bereavement.
Mention of this has been on my mind for some while now, but it only took real shape upon reading a passage in Dr. Gordon Livingston’s book Only Spring in which the author comments upon the differences between how it was that he and his wife Clare grieved upon the death of their son Lucas from leukemia:
‘I need to be more tolerant of these differences between us. We have lost our son; we must not lose each other.’
Just as there are many experiential differences between the bereavement following a child’s long-term illness as opposed to that of sudden death, … so there must be parallel differences between married parents’ bereavement and that of those lone parents who have divorced. Unlike the myriad stories of post-bereavement marital dysfunction due in large measure, I think, to how differently men and women grieve, I have never really known how Ben’s mom has coped; naturally I have wished her well all along, but we have each borne this burden alone from the other. However, it just may be that the situation of divorced parents is the less difficult of the two; while so many married couples find their marriage foundering upon the reef of a child’s death, divorced parents-often in the process of both redefining and reshaping their lives-may be able to cope more productively and directly with the enormity of their grief without the additional challenge of saving a troubled marriage.
Five Years Ago …
The Jewish month of Cheshvan is said to be ‘bitter’ because it has no “yamim tovim”-no holidays except the weekly celebrations of the Sabbath, and consequently Cheshvan is often called *Mar Cheshvan.
My experience is that it is even more so, bitterer … because it happens that its 24th day marks the anniversary of Ben’s death, and when we arrive at that day this year, we will look back upon five years and wonder how well-if at all-we’ll still be able to glimpse his countenance.
I’ve been looking back for some time now and recall how often I would remind Ben that he keep an eye to the future, to look beyond the moment, so as to be able to peer down the road and see ‘whither he was tending.’ I don’t really know if Ben ever acted upon my advice beyond his oft-repeated reassurances that he did understand and would keep it in mind. Truthfully, whether or not he even knew this about himself, but Ben lived his life by and for the moment; his life was supremely of the present tense-a person whose wristwatch read ‘is’ rather than either ‘was’ or ‘will be’.
I’m not quite sure what it is about the number ‘five’ that seems to have brought about these feelings which I’ll characterize as melancholic … feelings that are becoming more acute as the anniversary of that dreadful day approaches. For the first time since Ben’s death, I have chosen to remain unshaven during the whole of this bitter month-as a visible reminder of this difficult time of the year … as if to magnify the sadness I feel … not so much that I am getting older as that Ben isn’t. He remains forever young.
Friday, November 11, 2005
The Last Time (revised) ...
I believe it was an act of Divine Kindness that I last saw my son Benjamin Wednesday morning, November 22, 2000. Having just left *shul to drop off my dry cleaning, I turned around to leave and saw Ben standing just behind me. He had woken up late for work, saw my car parked outside the dry cleaners, and asked me to drive him to the train. It was pretty much like any other morning but with two significant differences: I was pleasantly surprised to see Ben that morning. Why so unusual? First, Ben lived in his mom's house. I had moved out the previous summer. So seeing Ben that morning was a special treat, and secondly ... this was to be our last few moments together.
Off we drove to the train but five minutes away. Our last conversation as I recall went something like this:
"How are you, Ben?"
"Fine, Dad. You?"
"Okay. How are you?"
"Good."
"You feeling good?"
"Yup."
(by this time we were right in front of the train station. I pulled over.)
"Do you have money on you?"
"Yes, Dad. See ya later!"
"Be safe!"
and off he went ... I got to work a few minutes later. Seemed like just another day until about 1:30 or so ... when I received a phone call from a man who identified himself as an ER doctor at Cook County Hospital. He told me that Ben had been in a very serious traffic accident, and that I should come down immediately!
Upon arriving, I was rushed into the ER whereupon I saw Ben. They placed me behind a glass partition with a full view of a frenzied team of doctors, nurses and technicians struggling mightily to save my son. Having called my dad on the way down, he arrived soon by my side, choking back the tears and pleading with Ben that he hold on! I subsequently learned that the attending trauma surgeon later testified in a deposition I read that he was worried about my dad witnessing what proved to be futile efforts lest something befall him.
Open heart massage ... failed! Oxygen mask ... failed! Electric shock ... failed!
Moments later, the lead surgeon turned to me and sadly shook his head. Ben was gone! He asked me if I wanted to be with him. My dad was taken aside. A curtain was drawn. Whether it be in life or death, and at that particular moment, the transition from one to the other was almost entirely seamless-the dividing line being so thin-that I stood over Ben's face, placed a **kippah upon his head, kissed his handsome nose and repeatedly sang the 23rd Psalm, thanking him for having been such a good son! It was all I knew to do at that moment! Ben and I spent about half an hour together that final afternoon.
Soon thereafter, the body had to be moved. My friend Rabbi Louis had arrived just minutes before. Almost as gut retching as watching Ben leave forever was that now Ben's mom had to be told. She had just arrived from work, having had to drive a far greater distance than I. I was led to a room opposite the emergency room where she sat awaiting news. Accompanied by my dad and Rabbi Louis, I approached her. My younger son Zac sat off to his mom's right. Several of Ben's buddies were there too. It was they whom I later learned had brought Zac to the hospital.
"Ben is gone!" I cried out placing my forehead upon the top of her head.
Only from a bereaved mother can there be heard such a primal utterance of pain! I shall never forget its sound! Between that horrific moment and my hallway conversation with the lead doctor, I do not know what subsequently happened in that waiting room. I soon thereafter informed the doctor that Ben was a Jew and that I forbad any autopsy. He assured me that he understood. After several hours, only Rabbi Louis and I were left. When there was nothing more that we could do, we left the hospital. We walked together to my truck. I was to drive him home as he had taken a cab to the hospital. Therein we sat. Rabbi Louis called Rabbi Moshe, a chaplain with the Chicago Police Department, to see if he could expedite the transfer of Ben's body from the morgue to the funeral home. When the truck was warm, I drove Rabbi Louis home just a mile or so from my apartment. After that, I remember nothing more of that Wednesday, November 22, the day before Thanksgiving. I think I fell asleep that night in my apartment!
*shul ... synagogue morning services
**Kippah ... a skullcap signifying God's presence overhead.
I believe it was an act of Divine Kindness that I last saw my son Benjamin Wednesday morning, November 22, 2000. Having just left *shul to drop off my dry cleaning, I turned around to leave and saw Ben standing just behind me. He had woken up late for work, saw my car parked outside the dry cleaners, and asked me to drive him to the train. It was pretty much like any other morning but with two significant differences: I was pleasantly surprised to see Ben that morning. Why so unusual? First, Ben lived in his mom's house. I had moved out the previous summer. So seeing Ben that morning was a special treat, and secondly ... this was to be our last few moments together.
Off we drove to the train but five minutes away. Our last conversation as I recall went something like this:
"How are you, Ben?"
"Fine, Dad. You?"
"Okay. How are you?"
"Good."
"You feeling good?"
"Yup."
(by this time we were right in front of the train station. I pulled over.)
"Do you have money on you?"
"Yes, Dad. See ya later!"
"Be safe!"
and off he went ... I got to work a few minutes later. Seemed like just another day until about 1:30 or so ... when I received a phone call from a man who identified himself as an ER doctor at Cook County Hospital. He told me that Ben had been in a very serious traffic accident, and that I should come down immediately!
Upon arriving, I was rushed into the ER whereupon I saw Ben. They placed me behind a glass partition with a full view of a frenzied team of doctors, nurses and technicians struggling mightily to save my son. Having called my dad on the way down, he arrived soon by my side, choking back the tears and pleading with Ben that he hold on! I subsequently learned that the attending trauma surgeon later testified in a deposition I read that he was worried about my dad witnessing what proved to be futile efforts lest something befall him.
Open heart massage ... failed! Oxygen mask ... failed! Electric shock ... failed!
Moments later, the lead surgeon turned to me and sadly shook his head. Ben was gone! He asked me if I wanted to be with him. My dad was taken aside. A curtain was drawn. Whether it be in life or death, and at that particular moment, the transition from one to the other was almost entirely seamless-the dividing line being so thin-that I stood over Ben's face, placed a **kippah upon his head, kissed his handsome nose and repeatedly sang the 23rd Psalm, thanking him for having been such a good son! It was all I knew to do at that moment! Ben and I spent about half an hour together that final afternoon.
Soon thereafter, the body had to be moved. My friend Rabbi Louis had arrived just minutes before. Almost as gut retching as watching Ben leave forever was that now Ben's mom had to be told. She had just arrived from work, having had to drive a far greater distance than I. I was led to a room opposite the emergency room where she sat awaiting news. Accompanied by my dad and Rabbi Louis, I approached her. My younger son Zac sat off to his mom's right. Several of Ben's buddies were there too. It was they whom I later learned had brought Zac to the hospital.
"Ben is gone!" I cried out placing my forehead upon the top of her head.
Only from a bereaved mother can there be heard such a primal utterance of pain! I shall never forget its sound! Between that horrific moment and my hallway conversation with the lead doctor, I do not know what subsequently happened in that waiting room. I soon thereafter informed the doctor that Ben was a Jew and that I forbad any autopsy. He assured me that he understood. After several hours, only Rabbi Louis and I were left. When there was nothing more that we could do, we left the hospital. We walked together to my truck. I was to drive him home as he had taken a cab to the hospital. Therein we sat. Rabbi Louis called Rabbi Moshe, a chaplain with the Chicago Police Department, to see if he could expedite the transfer of Ben's body from the morgue to the funeral home. When the truck was warm, I drove Rabbi Louis home just a mile or so from my apartment. After that, I remember nothing more of that Wednesday, November 22, the day before Thanksgiving. I think I fell asleep that night in my apartment!
*shul ... synagogue morning services
**Kippah ... a skullcap signifying God's presence overhead.
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Shomer
There are certain acts that are simply ... well, you know ... selfless! Acts that are done with no thought of payment or recognition! That in effect say ... 'I am doing this because it is the only decent and helpful thing I know to do'; it is at once a "kiddush Ha Shem" (sanctification of The Name) and a way of saying through one's actions that ... in doing this for you, I expect nothing and will accept nothing in return. It is the ultimate act of friendship.
I have such a friend.
Thursday, November 23, 2000 Thanksgiving Day, Ben's mom and I-together with a few family friends-met in the office of the funeral director to make the awful but painfully necessary arrangements to lay our son to final rest. The worst part of these arrangements was in having to purchase the casket. We chose one that was simply dignified-adorned with nothing more than a "magen David" a "star of David" (though it is better translated as "shield of David").
That Thanksgiving day was a dreadful one indeed. A quiet, calm and somber confusion. Countless things having to be accomplished. There was so little time before Friday. Many hands pitched in! A time when the angelic reflection of our souls brilliantly shone! A friend from shul prepared enough meals for me that lasted several days thereafter. A dear friend flew in from Canada. We were all so frenzied that I recall feeling emotionally suspended. An unreality that lasted until I heard the first shovelful of earth hitting the casket.
Each one comforting the next, quietly dreading the coming morning. No one was left alone. No one!
Ben was watched over by a "shomer"-literally a " watchman" who sat next to the casket all night while reading "Tehilim"-the Book of Psalms. The soul rising higher...
This particular shomer had known Ben, who he was, where he had lived, having on occasion conversed with him, seen him in shul next to me, discerned in Ben a fierce loyalty to family and friends, the kind of person for whom one prays that his soul have an "aliyah" -that it ascend to even greater heights.
Earlier that same day this shomer had sat by me whilst arrangements…
whose later act of selflessness that night comforted me-whose "tefilos"-prayers on behalf of my son, I am quite sure, reached the divine ear!
I have such a friend!
Thank you ... Harv!
*shomer ... watchman
There are certain acts that are simply ... well, you know ... selfless! Acts that are done with no thought of payment or recognition! That in effect say ... 'I am doing this because it is the only decent and helpful thing I know to do'; it is at once a "kiddush Ha Shem" (sanctification of The Name) and a way of saying through one's actions that ... in doing this for you, I expect nothing and will accept nothing in return. It is the ultimate act of friendship.
I have such a friend.
Thursday, November 23, 2000 Thanksgiving Day, Ben's mom and I-together with a few family friends-met in the office of the funeral director to make the awful but painfully necessary arrangements to lay our son to final rest. The worst part of these arrangements was in having to purchase the casket. We chose one that was simply dignified-adorned with nothing more than a "magen David" a "star of David" (though it is better translated as "shield of David").
That Thanksgiving day was a dreadful one indeed. A quiet, calm and somber confusion. Countless things having to be accomplished. There was so little time before Friday. Many hands pitched in! A time when the angelic reflection of our souls brilliantly shone! A friend from shul prepared enough meals for me that lasted several days thereafter. A dear friend flew in from Canada. We were all so frenzied that I recall feeling emotionally suspended. An unreality that lasted until I heard the first shovelful of earth hitting the casket.
Each one comforting the next, quietly dreading the coming morning. No one was left alone. No one!
Ben was watched over by a "shomer"-literally a " watchman" who sat next to the casket all night while reading "Tehilim"-the Book of Psalms. The soul rising higher...
This particular shomer had known Ben, who he was, where he had lived, having on occasion conversed with him, seen him in shul next to me, discerned in Ben a fierce loyalty to family and friends, the kind of person for whom one prays that his soul have an "aliyah" -that it ascend to even greater heights.
Earlier that same day this shomer had sat by me whilst arrangements…
whose later act of selflessness that night comforted me-whose "tefilos"-prayers on behalf of my son, I am quite sure, reached the divine ear!
I have such a friend!
Thank you ... Harv!
*shomer ... watchman
Saturday, October 22, 2005
Like Father ... Like Son
My favorite time to reflect upon things is in the wee hours of the morning when all is still, when you can gaze out the window just close enough to touch a berry tree branch being gently tossed about in the dark breeze, when you can see a cloud passing before a brightly lit moon, see the "red-eye" flights making their way through the early morning sky, when ... it invariably happens-in these wonderfully serene moments-that my thoughts turn to Ben-and I recall how amazingly much he was like me ... for better or worse.
Ben was already in his late teens or very early twenties when he and I started spending time ... smoking cigars together! Yes ... smoking cigars! Allow me to explain ... as much as I knew that Ben needed cigar smoking like a 'loch in kup' (hole in the head) or I for that matter, I rationalized it away by saying: "Well, after all, it is time spent TOGETHER!" In those days, my primary objective was to pursue 'togetherness' with Ben. He was, after all, quite realistically way too old for me to change; the hour was late and somehow, someway I just knew that. It had always been thus but as a young adult, Ben was ... well, like the rest of us, pretty much set in his ways. There was yet another dimension to this phase of our relationship; something else that I did back then; in an attempt, I suppose, to involve myself in those very activities that Ben liked so much of which I so adamantly disapproved: smoking and hanging out in unsavory places, such as the local cigar den. Now, truth be told, I too had smoked as a boy and young man and-in fact-I even recall two incidents when I deliberately hid cigarettes and lied to my mother about smoking.
As a matter of fact, Ben had been smoking since his mid-teens and, as his mom and I discovered, there was simply no way that we could stop him. On one occasion when we found cigarettes in his room, it was out of sheer frustration and fatigue that we asked him from whom he had acquired them. Ironically numbing was his response that the cigarettes, packaged as a "gift pack", had been bought by a friend. When further probed from whom the "gift" had been purchased, we learned that the corner gas station was the culprit whereupon Ben's mom and I strode over, "gift" in hand! The hapless attendant behind the counter was aghast as I rather violently shoved the 'gift pack" under and through the little change space, scraping the skin off my knuckles in the process! Imagine! Here we were with a chronically sick son and my "neighbor" was selling cigarettes to kids under age!
Looking back though, I cannot honestly be angry with Ben for smoking as he was so frightfully a copy of me. Toward the end of Ben's twenty-two years, when I was pretty much reconciled with all that had befallen him, when- I guess one could truthfully say- I had given up the fight against an unalterable reality. Bottom line ... I wanted to be with Ben where he chose to be; I could then say-though I might have disapproved of his choice-it was done under my parental supervision-not unlike monitoring the tv programs that your children are watching or filtering the type of internet content that comes into your home. So that is where we ended up perhaps twice a week; he and I ... playing pocket billiards and smoking fine cigars in the local cigar den-the kind of place where one doesn't ever see any mothers but on occasion an errant but well-meaning father or two.
Ben so very much liked wearing an English style cap as he chalked up his cue, looking for that next shot, whilst both he and I puffed away contentedly. When I looked at him, I saw a young man to whom life had not been so kind! Might he have been dealt a worse hand? Yes! Of course! So noteworthy is what I believe to have been Ben's most admirable quality ... the sheer depth of zeal with which he lived his life, as only he chose-by which I mean ... much like my feelings about him- Ben had come to terms with himself, and just maybe it was that acceptance, that shared acceptance which knit us so closely together.
My favorite time to reflect upon things is in the wee hours of the morning when all is still, when you can gaze out the window just close enough to touch a berry tree branch being gently tossed about in the dark breeze, when you can see a cloud passing before a brightly lit moon, see the "red-eye" flights making their way through the early morning sky, when ... it invariably happens-in these wonderfully serene moments-that my thoughts turn to Ben-and I recall how amazingly much he was like me ... for better or worse.
Ben was already in his late teens or very early twenties when he and I started spending time ... smoking cigars together! Yes ... smoking cigars! Allow me to explain ... as much as I knew that Ben needed cigar smoking like a 'loch in kup' (hole in the head) or I for that matter, I rationalized it away by saying: "Well, after all, it is time spent TOGETHER!" In those days, my primary objective was to pursue 'togetherness' with Ben. He was, after all, quite realistically way too old for me to change; the hour was late and somehow, someway I just knew that. It had always been thus but as a young adult, Ben was ... well, like the rest of us, pretty much set in his ways. There was yet another dimension to this phase of our relationship; something else that I did back then; in an attempt, I suppose, to involve myself in those very activities that Ben liked so much of which I so adamantly disapproved: smoking and hanging out in unsavory places, such as the local cigar den. Now, truth be told, I too had smoked as a boy and young man and-in fact-I even recall two incidents when I deliberately hid cigarettes and lied to my mother about smoking.
As a matter of fact, Ben had been smoking since his mid-teens and, as his mom and I discovered, there was simply no way that we could stop him. On one occasion when we found cigarettes in his room, it was out of sheer frustration and fatigue that we asked him from whom he had acquired them. Ironically numbing was his response that the cigarettes, packaged as a "gift pack", had been bought by a friend. When further probed from whom the "gift" had been purchased, we learned that the corner gas station was the culprit whereupon Ben's mom and I strode over, "gift" in hand! The hapless attendant behind the counter was aghast as I rather violently shoved the 'gift pack" under and through the little change space, scraping the skin off my knuckles in the process! Imagine! Here we were with a chronically sick son and my "neighbor" was selling cigarettes to kids under age!
Looking back though, I cannot honestly be angry with Ben for smoking as he was so frightfully a copy of me. Toward the end of Ben's twenty-two years, when I was pretty much reconciled with all that had befallen him, when- I guess one could truthfully say- I had given up the fight against an unalterable reality. Bottom line ... I wanted to be with Ben where he chose to be; I could then say-though I might have disapproved of his choice-it was done under my parental supervision-not unlike monitoring the tv programs that your children are watching or filtering the type of internet content that comes into your home. So that is where we ended up perhaps twice a week; he and I ... playing pocket billiards and smoking fine cigars in the local cigar den-the kind of place where one doesn't ever see any mothers but on occasion an errant but well-meaning father or two.
Ben so very much liked wearing an English style cap as he chalked up his cue, looking for that next shot, whilst both he and I puffed away contentedly. When I looked at him, I saw a young man to whom life had not been so kind! Might he have been dealt a worse hand? Yes! Of course! So noteworthy is what I believe to have been Ben's most admirable quality ... the sheer depth of zeal with which he lived his life, as only he chose-by which I mean ... much like my feelings about him- Ben had come to terms with himself, and just maybe it was that acceptance, that shared acceptance which knit us so closely together.
Thursday, October 13, 2005
Of Late ...
Of late-I guess pretty much since Ben's passing-I am very conscious of a mood swing that I experience within the framework of the "Yomim Noraim"-the Days of Awe ... from the hopeful expectation of Rosh Ha Shanah to the more somber reality check of Yom Kippur. What really troubles me though is that we simply do not and cannot know who has been inscribed and who not in the Book of Life for the coming year! We do, however, know with complete certainty that-by day's end with the final closing of the "aron kodesh"-the holy ark-signifying the closing of the Temple gates- there will be those whose names will not have been inscribed-for whom the question of being sealed in the Book of Life becomes quite moot-though we pray through the very end of Neilah-the concluding service of Yom Kippur- that we somehow have been included. Furthermore, not only has the Book been closed, but sealed tight-though we say as a measure of comfort and hopeful expectation that with heightened prayer, tzedaka: the combination of righteousness with charity-and teshuva: re-turning to a Godly life path ... the evil decree can be averted-which may, I suppose, explain what I'll call 'near misses' with death.
Deep down though I feel in my heart that all of these matters are simply unfathomable- beyond what my friend Rabbi Louis likes to call 'the inquisitive grasp of man'. Characterize 'near misses' by whatever name you like; rationalize them away if you so choose. A miracle? Are we not constantly surrounded by them on a daily basis? Unlike the "nissim"-miracles of the Torah- which were inversions of the laws of nature-as part of the works of creation, so-called daily miracles: the birth of a baby, the sunrise, the sunset (the list is interminable) are what we euphemistically refer to as "nature"-if only we could see that "nature" is really His creation! What about "blind luck"-as some might claim? Well, ... live with that if you so choose, but a belief that the universe, our world as we both perceive and feebly attempt to comprehend it-though seemingly in a continuum of random chaos is, in fact, not: rather I suggest the very opposite approach is far closer to the ultimate truth-that there is more order than disorder, that there is more law than lawlessness, that the heart may be a better barometer in these matters than the head!
How awful it must feel to live life without the "nechuma"-comfort that an unshakeable belief in The One Above affords! Now this is not to say that everything always turns out as we would like! However, there are occasions when things turn out so 'miraculously well' that one's dumbfoundedness can only be exceeded by an even stronger resolve in the belief that The One Above does rule the world-albeit with outcomes that at times favor us-at other times not. So here's my story ... when it happened just a bit more than a year ago, it shook me so fundamentally to the core that I find myself reflecting upon it today-just one day prior to the Eve of Yom Kippur ...
I received a call one afternoon from a complete stranger who-as it happened-had stopped to assist my daughter Kimberly at the scene of an almost calamitous accident. Kimmy, as I call her, had been involved in a near fatal accident from which she emerged completely unscathed, as did the occupants of the other vehicle, I am told-though Kimmy's car was absolutely totaled, and having seen it, I mean totaled! I sat in my office literally quaking! I called Kimmy's mom, let her know what had happened and assured her that I'd leave immediately and bring our daughter home. I left moments thereafter on a route very familiar to me about an hour and a half from Chicago. While driving I was able to speak with the Illinois State trooper who was there at the scene and who reassured me that Kimmy was indeed unhurt.
Long story short as the eve of Yom Kippur approaches, but I found my beautiful and quite wonderous daughter-as I said before-without so much as a scratch, but her car was "accordioned" which is to say that the front of the car could be found just inches away from where the dashboard used to be. The airbags deployed successfully, but the impact had been at a high speed typical of interstate highway driving.
Might it have turned out differently? GOD FORBID!! ... but yes it could have. Why was Kimmy saved? Again-as with "why did Ben die?"-the wrong question, but once there with Kimmy and having seen the car, I can only thank Him for having bestowed this kindness upon me.
Postscript: While preparing this post, I read a fabulous Torah lesson posting on one of my favorite blogs whose owner I e-mailed from whom I received permission to include this LINK.
Of late-I guess pretty much since Ben's passing-I am very conscious of a mood swing that I experience within the framework of the "Yomim Noraim"-the Days of Awe ... from the hopeful expectation of Rosh Ha Shanah to the more somber reality check of Yom Kippur. What really troubles me though is that we simply do not and cannot know who has been inscribed and who not in the Book of Life for the coming year! We do, however, know with complete certainty that-by day's end with the final closing of the "aron kodesh"-the holy ark-signifying the closing of the Temple gates- there will be those whose names will not have been inscribed-for whom the question of being sealed in the Book of Life becomes quite moot-though we pray through the very end of Neilah-the concluding service of Yom Kippur- that we somehow have been included. Furthermore, not only has the Book been closed, but sealed tight-though we say as a measure of comfort and hopeful expectation that with heightened prayer, tzedaka: the combination of righteousness with charity-and teshuva: re-turning to a Godly life path ... the evil decree can be averted-which may, I suppose, explain what I'll call 'near misses' with death.
Deep down though I feel in my heart that all of these matters are simply unfathomable- beyond what my friend Rabbi Louis likes to call 'the inquisitive grasp of man'. Characterize 'near misses' by whatever name you like; rationalize them away if you so choose. A miracle? Are we not constantly surrounded by them on a daily basis? Unlike the "nissim"-miracles of the Torah- which were inversions of the laws of nature-as part of the works of creation, so-called daily miracles: the birth of a baby, the sunrise, the sunset (the list is interminable) are what we euphemistically refer to as "nature"-if only we could see that "nature" is really His creation! What about "blind luck"-as some might claim? Well, ... live with that if you so choose, but a belief that the universe, our world as we both perceive and feebly attempt to comprehend it-though seemingly in a continuum of random chaos is, in fact, not: rather I suggest the very opposite approach is far closer to the ultimate truth-that there is more order than disorder, that there is more law than lawlessness, that the heart may be a better barometer in these matters than the head!
How awful it must feel to live life without the "nechuma"-comfort that an unshakeable belief in The One Above affords! Now this is not to say that everything always turns out as we would like! However, there are occasions when things turn out so 'miraculously well' that one's dumbfoundedness can only be exceeded by an even stronger resolve in the belief that The One Above does rule the world-albeit with outcomes that at times favor us-at other times not. So here's my story ... when it happened just a bit more than a year ago, it shook me so fundamentally to the core that I find myself reflecting upon it today-just one day prior to the Eve of Yom Kippur ...
I received a call one afternoon from a complete stranger who-as it happened-had stopped to assist my daughter Kimberly at the scene of an almost calamitous accident. Kimmy, as I call her, had been involved in a near fatal accident from which she emerged completely unscathed, as did the occupants of the other vehicle, I am told-though Kimmy's car was absolutely totaled, and having seen it, I mean totaled! I sat in my office literally quaking! I called Kimmy's mom, let her know what had happened and assured her that I'd leave immediately and bring our daughter home. I left moments thereafter on a route very familiar to me about an hour and a half from Chicago. While driving I was able to speak with the Illinois State trooper who was there at the scene and who reassured me that Kimmy was indeed unhurt.
Long story short as the eve of Yom Kippur approaches, but I found my beautiful and quite wonderous daughter-as I said before-without so much as a scratch, but her car was "accordioned" which is to say that the front of the car could be found just inches away from where the dashboard used to be. The airbags deployed successfully, but the impact had been at a high speed typical of interstate highway driving.
Might it have turned out differently? GOD FORBID!! ... but yes it could have. Why was Kimmy saved? Again-as with "why did Ben die?"-the wrong question, but once there with Kimmy and having seen the car, I can only thank Him for having bestowed this kindness upon me.
Postscript: While preparing this post, I read a fabulous Torah lesson posting on one of my favorite blogs whose owner I e-mailed from whom I received permission to include this LINK.
Sunday, October 09, 2005
" ... In a Better Place ..."
Haven't we all heard that platitude uttered by a friend or relative intended to quiet the struggle and the rage that a parent experiences upon the death of a child? Though I believe that more hugs and fewer trite-though admittedly well-intended-words would most assuredly provide greater comfort, there should come a time for every grieving parent when the calm acceptance of finality takes over-which is NOT to say that time heals all wounds-only that continuing to fight the irreversible wears one down.
Meanwhile, should we not stand atop the highest mountain and cry out to the heavens above that the death of my child or yours is immeasureably unfair?! Every grieving parent needs to know that s/he is not alone-that living life and surviving death is easier when shared. What might even be more terrible than suffering the death of a child? ... To do so alone!
Harold Kushner in his When Bad Things Happen to Good People argues persuasively that God neither causes anyone to fall ill and die in retribution for sin - a belief commonly held by many religious people- nor does He or can He take measures to prevent such tragedies from occuring. Whether unexpectedly ending a young life or predictably that of an elderly person, death is and remains as much a part of 'maasei bereshit'-the works of creation- as is birth itself and all that happens between those two points in our lives. After all, the same god who set the planets in motion, who renews our lives with each and every sunrise, whom we praise and thank each time we arise from our slumbers, who brings forth flowers, causes the winds to blow and the falling rains ... just how could it ever be thought-no less believed-that such a sublime being would select even one child, young adult, woman or man or six million for that matter?
"Where was God during the Holocaust? Why did He not stop the murder of 1.5 million children? Maybe you have heard it said that there are no stupid questions- as many reticent school children are often told- but there are most assuredly at times wrong questions! And why not? Are there not wrong answers? The wrong question for me to ask would be ... "Why did Ben die?" Rabbi Kushner wisely remarks that "The dead depend on us for their redemption and their immortality." It is for us the living to make of our children's memory a blessing. We can do so-not by blaming a capricious god or oneself for past sins-but by the performance of good deeds and acts of loving kindness.
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
My Other Children ...(Unsolicited but Good Advice from a Reader!)
I'll call her 'Kathy'. At first, I was offended! I thought to myself: 'Who is she to advise me of such things?' Oh! I was so angry that I even blocked her from sending me any more "instant messages". 'That'll fix her,' I thought rather self-contentedly! So ... what had she said? What button pushed? What raw nerve touched?
It all began like this: I was in a chatroom for diabetes sufferers when 'Kathy' "instant messaged" me to ask if I were diabetic to which I answered "no"-though Ben, I informed her, had been since ten and a half years of age. Then she said it! Having just read The Book of Ben and "instant messaging" me on and off for only a few weeks, 'Kathy'-very boldly I thought-asked me if I was "obsessive" about my late son's life and death, adding that she hoped and prayed that I paid as much attention to my two other living children: Kimberly and Zac as I did to Ben! Good counsel? Right? Sage advice? No? Well, truth be told, though bristling with the sting of this accusation, it got me to thinking. Now ... mind you, I had previously anticipated this potential danger and written about it in "In Memory of Ben", but 'Kathy' had indeed touched a raw nerve! What if-in fact-she were right? Was I guilty of not attending to my other children?
Truthfully, I do not think so, but I did make a special call to Zac that very same night when he is ordinarily at his mom's house-a call which I make almost daily in any case whether he's there or with me. And Kimberly? Having just moved back to Chicago after graduating law school, I have been calling her ... oh, maybe two to three times a week and making every effort to keep her close: coffee together, dinner invitations, but in such a way that I not violate the privacy of a twenty-five year old woman though I admit having felt very happy when she accepted my invitation to come by for dinner on the eve of Rosh Ha Shanah. Zac was there too! So what then was the difference between these two calls and those which I would make ordinarily? Simply that the former were in direct response to what 'Kathy' had said ... try as I might to deny it to myself.
Does it happen that grieving parent(s) may unwittingly ignore their other surviving children which, should that occur, results in an already tragic situation becoming worse? I suppose it happens often enough and is something about which grieving parents need be mindful.
I was indeed taken aback when my own protagonist uttered her well-meaning words of caution. Comparable to a "wake-up" call which-though necessary-is often unwelcome at the moment, I am reminded of the wisdom-in coping with death as with the whole of life, that honesty-beginning with oneself-remains the best policy.
Postscript: This evening my daughter called me with the good news that she had passed the Illinois Bar Exam! So if you will forgive me, I am just so busy "schepping nachas" (roughly translated as: deriving great pleasure from the accomplishments of one's children!)
Thursday, September 29, 2005
Letter to Ben ...(with an addition to the original "Letter to Ben" written Thursday night and early Friday morning just a few days before Erev Rosh Ha Shana 5766) ...
We say so many different things to each other just before and during the Yomin Noraim: A Gut Yontif, A Gut Yor, Chag Sameach, Shana Tova, and for those of us inclined to use our native tongue rather than the 'mama loschen' or the "lashon kodesh", we say: May the New Year Be Sweet or as I so often say: "May you have a happy and healthy New Year!" And you know what? Regardless of whichever greeting or bracha (blessing) we choose, the common feature that links them all together is that they all can be effectively answered by responding "Amen!" Such a wonderful word this "amen"! It's short, clean and efficient and, in effect, says: "Yes! I subscribe to everything you have said!"
Beyond this, we pray that each of us will be inscribed in the "Sefer Ha Chaim"-the Book of Life-for the coming year-that we may be worthy enough to enjoy the *mazel, **brocho and ***chatzlacha that the New Year affords!
As a boy I remember having heard it said so often that without good health, we really have little or nothing! That one can have all the riches in the world but without good health ... well, you know the rest! So I have begun to wonder: well, what about those who will fall ill in the coming year or who, in earlier years, fell ill, and furthermore what about those- about whose fate we learn, mourn and grieve later-whose names were not inscribed ... no less sealed in the Sefer Ha Chaim? What about them?
We are all "basar v' dam"-flesh and blood-mortal beings for whom death-however untimely and premature as it does so often seem-is as integral to life as is birth itself; dialectical opposites each requiring the other lest what we euphemistically call "nature" gives way to chaos. None of this however soothes the bereaved parent! That much I know very well. As a matter of fact, I have often found myself examining my own deeds-both present and past-in an attempt to uncover what may be a possible linkage between the absolute calamity of losing Ben and my own considerable failings and flaws. Then I "awaken" as it were because I know in my heart that He does not rule over the universe in such a fashion that a child is sacrificed for the misdeeds of a parent! What a relief having realized that! For as immeasureably much as I miss Ben, I quite honestly can pin the blame on no one and most assuredly not on God Himself! or ... for that matter on the driver of the truck whose failure to signal a right turn led to ...
I even know his name and where he lives,
but for the sake of Ben whose life I love(d), may I merit the strength to live life free from bitterness, anger and cynicism, and may you Ben dwell on high enough to look down upon the clouds ... on the almost eve of the New Year, 5766 I send you the following few reflections:
Dear Ben,
It's now approaching five years ago that you left us son. That one Wednesday morning, the day before Thanksgiving, November 22, 2000, our last morning together, those few minutes that we spent chatting while I drove you to the train ... how grateful I am that the experience of that brief moment is mine, that its memory remains as vivid today as if it were that day all over again.
Life without you has been and continues to be difficult; there isn't a day when I don't think of you while pondering the many "what might have beens" though there are many moments when I smile recalling how close you and I were! Sure we had our many differences and struggles, but what father and son don't?
Though it may be true for some that time heals all wounds, I don't think the healing is ever complete and certainly not without scarring. We've all had to get on with our lives while what happened that day has left you behind; we grow older while you remain forever as young as the day you were taken from us.
Over these several years, I have spoken to many parents who have lost a child, and I've learned that each copes in his own way; I don't know how your mom has managed, but I imagine that she too has in her own way-not unlike your sister and brother and all who love you. Finding the right words to say to you Ben expresses my hope that they'll not only have particular meaning for you but a more universal message for others who might read your story. First off ... know that I loved you and will always love you unconditionally-despite all that of which I so adamantly disapproved ... it now all takes its place within the context of our lives at that time. As the older of my two sons and the eldest of my three children-while watching your sister and brother take their places in the world-the anguish I feel becomes even greater as I see the grownup sons of other men. We were all deprived of you Ben; it is just somehow so unfair! Soon ... not so many years from now, your younger brother will be older than you; your sister already is though you will forever remain their big brother!
I recall one night when you, your sister, brother and I were together; it might even have been a *Shabbat or **yom tov-maybe one of our Passover ***seders together-when the three of you were about to leave on your way back to mom's house, I kissed you on your cheek and felt the stubble of your whiskers on my lips. Funny what each of us remembers.
*Shabbat ... the Sabbath
**yom tov ... holiday; literally, a good day
***seder ... meal served on first two nights of Passover; literally: order
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
"... al ha Nissim ...... "
It was during Purim one year while Ben and I were delivering food baskets for the needy (the mitzvah of "matanot l'Evyonim") that it first happened. He had just eaten not more than an hour before which made it all the more perplexing and frightening. After having finished our last delivery, we were on the way home when I just happened to look over at Ben. It was then that I saw something about which I had heard but had never seen until that moment, a "grand mal" epilectic seizure. At first I thought it to be hypoglycemia, but I immediately knew that something, somehow was different. Unlike the wild and uncontrolled episodic fits of hypoglycemia, this epilectic seizure was marked by stiff robotic-like, spasmodic movements. At the time, however, I didn't and couldn't have known it to be anything but hypoglycemia. Frightened and very confused, I drove into the parking lot of a local restaurant, raced inside and demanded of the counter person that I be given a coke immediately with which, I thought, I could raise Ben's blood sugar, but by the time I returned Ben was just coming out of the seizure. He was alone for but a minute or so.
We drove home and told Ben's mom. For the next several hours, Ben suffered several more seizures. We called his doctor repeatedly! What was this happening to Ben? To us? Unless you have witnessed these seizures, it is difficult to imagine the fear and utter powerlessness that took hold of us as we watched Ben drift in and out of these horrific events. I cannot honestly tell you why we did not rush off to the hospital earlier. Finally after many agonizing hours, we drove Ben to the emergency room where just a short time later, after having heard our descriptions of the appearance of Ben's seizures, that a certain diagnosis was made. As if juvenile diabetes were not enough, Ben was now stricken with epilepsy! Over the next several days the seizures continued while the neurologist sought the right combination of medicines with which to quiet these potentially life-threaning seizures.
*al ha nissim ... for the miracles
**Purim ... Jewish holiday based upon the Book of Esther.
Postscript to "Al Ha Nissim": *Rachomim
The **sukkah is fashioned as a temporary dwelling; its four sides flimsily built, its roof thatched and open to raindrops-we dwell therein during the festival of ***Sukkot to recall the temporary dwellings of the Israelites in their forty year desert sojourn. We are taught metaphorically that the sukkah reflects the delicate and vulnerable nature of life itself, that at times dark clouds do gather overhead, the inclemency of the autumn rains at times spoiling the ****simcha of our festive meals.
It was once on a chilly and rainy Sukkot night that Ben and I-after having dwelt for a short while in the sukkah of his mom's synagogue-left together and returned home to pick up a winter coat that I had barely if ever worn. "Ben, I know of someone who could use this." Tucked away in the corner of a local storefront was the "sukkah" of a homeless man whom I had often noticed as I drove by at night on the way home. We pulled in front, Ben and I, took the coat, laid it atop his "dwelling", turned and left.
*Rachomim ... mercy
**Sukkah ... temporary dwelling of Sukkot
***Sukkot ... Jewish holiday, season of our joy
**** simcha ...joy, happiness
It was during Purim one year while Ben and I were delivering food baskets for the needy (the mitzvah of "matanot l'Evyonim") that it first happened. He had just eaten not more than an hour before which made it all the more perplexing and frightening. After having finished our last delivery, we were on the way home when I just happened to look over at Ben. It was then that I saw something about which I had heard but had never seen until that moment, a "grand mal" epilectic seizure. At first I thought it to be hypoglycemia, but I immediately knew that something, somehow was different. Unlike the wild and uncontrolled episodic fits of hypoglycemia, this epilectic seizure was marked by stiff robotic-like, spasmodic movements. At the time, however, I didn't and couldn't have known it to be anything but hypoglycemia. Frightened and very confused, I drove into the parking lot of a local restaurant, raced inside and demanded of the counter person that I be given a coke immediately with which, I thought, I could raise Ben's blood sugar, but by the time I returned Ben was just coming out of the seizure. He was alone for but a minute or so.
We drove home and told Ben's mom. For the next several hours, Ben suffered several more seizures. We called his doctor repeatedly! What was this happening to Ben? To us? Unless you have witnessed these seizures, it is difficult to imagine the fear and utter powerlessness that took hold of us as we watched Ben drift in and out of these horrific events. I cannot honestly tell you why we did not rush off to the hospital earlier. Finally after many agonizing hours, we drove Ben to the emergency room where just a short time later, after having heard our descriptions of the appearance of Ben's seizures, that a certain diagnosis was made. As if juvenile diabetes were not enough, Ben was now stricken with epilepsy! Over the next several days the seizures continued while the neurologist sought the right combination of medicines with which to quiet these potentially life-threaning seizures.
*al ha nissim ... for the miracles
**Purim ... Jewish holiday based upon the Book of Esther.
Postscript to "Al Ha Nissim": *Rachomim
The **sukkah is fashioned as a temporary dwelling; its four sides flimsily built, its roof thatched and open to raindrops-we dwell therein during the festival of ***Sukkot to recall the temporary dwellings of the Israelites in their forty year desert sojourn. We are taught metaphorically that the sukkah reflects the delicate and vulnerable nature of life itself, that at times dark clouds do gather overhead, the inclemency of the autumn rains at times spoiling the ****simcha of our festive meals.
It was once on a chilly and rainy Sukkot night that Ben and I-after having dwelt for a short while in the sukkah of his mom's synagogue-left together and returned home to pick up a winter coat that I had barely if ever worn. "Ben, I know of someone who could use this." Tucked away in the corner of a local storefront was the "sukkah" of a homeless man whom I had often noticed as I drove by at night on the way home. We pulled in front, Ben and I, took the coat, laid it atop his "dwelling", turned and left.
*Rachomim ... mercy
**Sukkah ... temporary dwelling of Sukkot
***Sukkot ... Jewish holiday, season of our joy
**** simcha ...joy, happiness
Sunday, September 25, 2005
A Blessing, the Ocean, Ben and I
I have been thinking about this for quite a while now because there is so much more I wish to say about Ben, that I know I've yet to recall. All parents do, I suppose, have their enduring "moments in mind", those remarkably preserved "snapshots" of earlier, different and less troubled times-during which when much younger-we used to-as Ben's mom liked to say-make memories together.
I chose this photograph of Ben and me-one of my favorites-which shows us some twenty-one years ago when my younger brother Michael, Ben-then six years old, Kimmy, their mom and I journeyed on our first family vacation together to Florida. What a wonderful family time it was! A fragment of that memory baffles me though to this very day; something that I did with and especially for Ben-just he and I, but before I relate any more of the story-I should really point out that this happened at a time in my life when I was almost entirely Jewishly unobservant; in other words, i was just pretty much the sort of Jew that I had been raised to be; a sparse sunday school Jewish education, Shabbat? Oh, you mean Saturday morning cartoons! Just one Passover seder-not two and always at the home of my Aunt Iris, Olav ha Shalom, presents at Hanukkah, Rosh Hashanah and the big meal together at the end of Yom Kippur though i do not recall ever having fasted.
We spent-I think it was-one or two days in Jacksonville which was very special for me because I had never before that seen the ocean about which I was very excited. Even more special would be that I planned to behold it for the first time with Ben in my arms. We all had arisen early that morning and hurried out to the beach. Just ahead lay our special moment together! Though not entirely certain of this, I think Ben and I raced ahead of the group down to the water's edge ... whereupon he leapt into my arms, and the following words that I had previously learned and committed to memory (though I think I did have a cheat sheet!) I then recited to Ben as we gazed upon the Atlantic Ocean:
"Baruch ata HaShem, Elokeinu Melech ha Olam, sheasa et ha yam ha gadol"- Blessed are you, our God, King of the universe, who made the great sea.
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
"evocative of the presence ..." 
I shall never forget how it was that Rabbi Joseph Edelheit pronounced the Birkas Cohanim, the Priestly Blessing, upon the conclusion of Ben's bar mitzvah some fourteen years ago. It was a moment both beautiful and kadosh! Just a short while before, Ben, his mom, sister,
younger brother and I had met in "Rabbi Joe's" study to receive Ben's certificate of bar mitzvah-whilst Zac, Ben's four year old brother, peered presciently from around the edge of the rabbi's doorpost, down the hall ...
Upon the conclusion of the service but before pronouncing the "devrei brocho" (words of blessing), Rabbi Joe charged Ben with his newly-acquired Jewish adulthood, a moment made even more poignant by his reminder to Ben that his challenge would be far more difficult than that faced by most other young people. Rabbi Joe certainly was well aware of Ben's diabetes, and it seemed to me then and still now that his blessing was even more than just intensely heartfelt, but evocative of the presence of Ha Shem Yisborach!
The mood was joyous yet somber as the sanctuary filled with tears! Whereupon, Rabbi Joe-placing his hands and forehead upon Ben's bowed head-pronounced these words which God had first told over to Moshe who then told them over to Aron: "Yevarerecha Ha Shem V'yishmerecha" (May God bless you and keep you.) "Yaer Ha Shem panav elecha ve chunecha" (May He make His face to shine upon you and be gracious unto you.) "Esa Ha Shem panav elecha v'yasem lecha shalom" (May He lift up His countenance upon you and grant you peace.)
I believe that it was the merit of those words that enabled Ben to live life as well and for as long as he did.
I shall never forget how it was that Rabbi Joseph Edelheit pronounced the Birkas Cohanim, the Priestly Blessing, upon the conclusion of Ben's bar mitzvah some fourteen years ago. It was a moment both beautiful and kadosh! Just a short while before, Ben, his mom, sister,
younger brother and I had met in "Rabbi Joe's" study to receive Ben's certificate of bar mitzvah-whilst Zac, Ben's four year old brother, peered presciently from around the edge of the rabbi's doorpost, down the hall ...Upon the conclusion of the service but before pronouncing the "devrei brocho" (words of blessing), Rabbi Joe charged Ben with his newly-acquired Jewish adulthood, a moment made even more poignant by his reminder to Ben that his challenge would be far more difficult than that faced by most other young people. Rabbi Joe certainly was well aware of Ben's diabetes, and it seemed to me then and still now that his blessing was even more than just intensely heartfelt, but evocative of the presence of Ha Shem Yisborach!
The mood was joyous yet somber as the sanctuary filled with tears! Whereupon, Rabbi Joe-placing his hands and forehead upon Ben's bowed head-pronounced these words which God had first told over to Moshe who then told them over to Aron: "Yevarerecha Ha Shem V'yishmerecha" (May God bless you and keep you.) "Yaer Ha Shem panav elecha ve chunecha" (May He make His face to shine upon you and be gracious unto you.) "Esa Ha Shem panav elecha v'yasem lecha shalom" (May He lift up His countenance upon you and grant you peace.)
I believe that it was the merit of those words that enabled Ben to live life as well and for as long as he did.
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