Life and Death and Trees - Thanksgiving Blessings

Sharing Saturday

It has been a year since my neighbor's husband died very young and very suddenly – I wrote about it in one of my first Current Mom posts. Since that time, she has cycled through a year of firsts – first Christmas without him, first New Year's, first spring break, first first day of school, first Halloween.  Anyone who has been through mourning knows about all those milestones in the first year.

In this same year my family has also cycled through many events, but with our own twists – first summer at sleep away camp, first day of middle school. A teenager who seems to be regaining his footing in the world.  A 4^th grader who is learning to play sax. Aging parents, a great new job, a vacation in the beautiful mountains of West Virginia with close friends.

And the beat goes on. Our lives purr ahead, whether we are ready for it or not.

My neighbor told me that at a memorial service that was recently held for her husband, she wanted the focus to be on the future. She talked about the community that has supported her and her family though this hard year – hardly a day went by for six months without a meal showing up on her doorstep, often with wine, flowers, a notecard.

One of the most wonderful things a friend did for her was to plant a new garden, with gorgeous shrubbery surrounding their house. Now when she looks out her window, she sees plants and flowers that remind her of her husband, remind her of both the happy and the sad times, and offer her a moment to reflect on the beauty of the world around her, as well as the future.

Blessings.

Recently in our synagogue, our rabbi talked about the story of Jacob and Esau and the birthright and blessing that was stolen from Esau by his mother's and Jacob's deception. Esau cried out to his father, "do you not have one more blessing for me?" Isaac did not. Our congregation then wrestled with the concept of blessing, and the lack of blessing, and how much we have to be grateful for.

I am so aware of the blessings in my life. In my 47 years, I have faced three catastrophic losses – my mother's abandonment coupled with my parents' divorce, the death of my infant son, and the untimely and sudden death of my mother. Any one of these could have flattened me, and each did for a period of time. But in each case, there was opportunity to recover and regain my footing in the world.

And yet, I think of myself as one of the luckiest people. Each Friday night my family goes around the Shabbat dinner table asking what each of us is grateful for. Sometimes it's something really big, like a special trip we're taking or a great present someone has given us or good news about our health. Sometimes it's small, like the chance to go swimming on a day off from school. And often, it's that we are sharing our dinner with friends, old or new, or family who is visiting from far away.

All of these are the blessings of our lives. My husband and I have good work, even in this terrible and deep recession. I have an avocation – writing – that is feeding me, and one that will hopefully carry into the rest of my life. We have a spiritual community that nurtures us, and one in which we give back as well as receive. We have good friends who have been with us through everything. I have a loving family, step-family and in-laws, as well as a renewed relationship with a long-lost cousin whom I adore. And we have each other and our children – I just can't ask for anything more.

When each of our children was born, we planted a tree to mark their arrival. The first and oldest tree on our property is now 15 years old. It is a glorious dogwood, and it bursts out in white blossoms each spring and turns vibrant red and orange each fall. We hang ghosts and goblins on it at Halloween, and the snow clings to its branches in the middle of the winter.

That tree was planted on the day we named our oldest son in our synagogue, a great joy in front of our entire community. That afternoon, we came back home to break ground and plant its roots in our front yard.

Later that day we got a terrible phone call – Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin of Israel had been assassinated. We are deeply connected to Israel, and this was devastating news. We will never forget the juxtaposition of the pride and happiness of that morning with the tragedy of that afternoon.  When I look at that tree I always remember what blessings we enjoy.

Two other trees bloom on our property – a birch for our daughter and a magnolia for our youngest son. Each of these trees marks a moment in our lives of arrival and love and promise for the future, and they grace our property with their beauty.

Nearly thirteen years ago, we planted another tree. It is on the grounds of our synagogue.  Several months after our infant son died, Adat Shalom was breaking ground on a new building. We decided to plant a sapling on the developing property and did so in the middle of a prayer circle, girded by people who knew us and loved us and mourned with us. Many more plantings have been rooted since that early April morning, and we don't know where our little tree sits now. But I know that it's there, holding our hearts in the wet earth where we marked our spot with our tears 13 years ago. 

As we think about our blessings during this Thanksgiving and holiday season, we look out our window and see the trees that mark the cycles of our lives. I think of my neighbor, lifting a glass to her late husband for the second year at her Thanksgiving table, peering out the window at her new plantings, knowing that she and her children will forge on.

And I think about all that we have in the world, and how Isaac's one blessing for Jacob has multiplied into universes of blessings for generation after generation. I once more peek out at our own trees, now bare and waiting for winter, and know that in a few short months, the blessings of the first spring buds will be upon us again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Comments

[Barbara Green]

Karen, This is one of your most moving blogs. You have a deep understanding of the fragility of life, and what's important and enduring. I'm grateful for your ability -- and willingness -- to share both qualities. Warmly, Barbara

[Rachel Gertzog]

Karen, I am weeping as I read this. You write so beautifully. Your ability to capture emotion both subtle and raw is a true gift. Your writing is, indeed, a blessing.

[Julie Bindeman]

Thanks, as always, Karen. My heart is with you, as I can share in what it is like to lose a child. May blessings continue to come your way, in whatever form.