Trust Me, It's A Fake

Trust is funny.

It makes me laugh, loud and fake.

My nine month old daughter does that now. She fake laughs.

"Here," we say, "I don't find you funny at all. Ha Ha Ha."

But, my daughter doesn't understand any of it. She laughs just because she wants to mimic us.

Ha, Ha, Ha.

Who is laughing now?

Who doesn't know how I have been bleeding?

So much I thought was real, feels fake now.

I hold onto my pillow as I surf myself to sleep.

Instead of peering out the window into the darkness of the night,

I google words like, "organic" and "natural" and try not to think until sleep hits me.

It's not dark in my head that way.

My brain is awash with light,

I try to fool my heart,

"It's not real," I say, "It can't be real."

Because Trust me, It's all fake anyways.

Gymboree- 0 missed calls

You used to call me during Gymboree.
I didn't always answer.
I have seen gymbo dance for seven years now,
you have been gone for two months.

Everything has stayed the same.
The boldest colors and the sweetest songs,
"Dance Gymbo dance," and Ella dances.
You see her, don't you?
She is changing, and growing and learning to move to the music.

I feel you always.

It hurts in Gymboree when my phone doesn't ring.
When I no longer have the choice of answering right away or calling you back.
I have made the most horrible of choices,
I have left too many calls go unanswered.

Voice mail is not my voice.
I miss you.

Gymboree ends and I have no missed calls.
Oh, how I miss you.

The Twenties Girl By Sophie Kinsella

There is a reading list.

I see it in my brothers hands.

The books they have read, the words they have run through.

I flip through them and marvel at their minds,

as mine starts to unravel.

My sister loved to read.

Her last year was marked by books.

Funny ones, upbeat ones, ones we shared.

Just this past summer we roamed the bookstore together,

with stacks under our arms.

We shared our favorite authors.

What my sister liked in a book, I mirrored.

She told me, that at her last doctors appointment the news was bitter and tough to swallow.

She said, she looked up at her doctor and then quickly back down at her book.

"I just wanted to get back to the characters in the book" She had said to me, "They were so happy."

She loved getting lost in a book.

She loved the characters.

I have a list of books I have to read.

Some the last books my sister read.

But of all the books I will read,

I will forever treasure the book she escaped to last.

It made her laugh and love,

and then she did what she always did...

she passed it on to all of us, her siblings, to share.

Filling In Blanks

How do you mourn? They want to ask, but that would be too bold. To obvious.
So instead, they clutch at straws and come up with words to break bread with,
"Your sister," They start and they never finish.
Because in their mind they know that they can't start.
They can't begin,
they can only add the ending,
"She should give you strength." or the famous, " You were blessed with her sisterhood."
So I dip my carbs into anything that looks remotely like mayonaise and fill in all the middles.
I retell the same stories.
I paint pictures of my sister in all her favorite colours, in the clothes she wore so well.
I say things like, "She was a light in this world." and "We were lucky to be loved by her."
But, I choke on my appetite.
It fills me up with all the wrong emotions.
Instead of feeling brutally sad, I feel horrible deep in denial.
I smile at strangers and laugh with those I love.
I tip toe out of my nightmares and lock the doors to my most favoirte memories.
"Come," I say, "Let's walk away from this."
But instead of walking away,
I walk in circles.

The Road Not Taken

I have travelled down roads before,

some less travelled on.

Some marked with tracks and beaten down by use.

Some I know by memory,

some I have forgotten.

This time It was new for me.

For us.

When I came to Israel I knew I would be racing towards you

and holding myself back at the same time.

I knew the roads would feel like they were all slanting to you,

but I also knew I would lose my balance.

I knew that in my footing was the telltale signs of a little girl.

Unsure.

Going, coming back. Coming to you, turning away from you.

Unsure.

I recognized the roads.

They were painted familiar by other peoples stories.

"The view." They had said, " Is breathtaking."

But, when I got there and my breath was taken, I turned to my brother and said,

"They said it was such a beautiful view. But, Its just a view."

He turned to me sadly, and taught me alot by just saying simply,

"What could they say?"

I know.

I have nothing to say.

I have feelings I can explore, but nothing to say.

The way the road winded towards you and I knew I would soon be standing at your door in Queens.

And now the roads winded and brought me to a mountain of graves.

A home of only heart and souls.

And somewhere amongst them all, G-d had placed my 34 year old sister.

The way I remembered each drive from LaGuardia to your house.

Your beautiful smile full of excitement for my stay.

Now this drive.

I knew you knew we were coming.

I saw your beautiful smile. I just so badly wanted to reach you and kiss you.

Adina,

How I love you.

How I have to come to love you here now too.

There is nothing for me to touch, because your stone is not up yet.

I want to reach for something for balance, but I find myself only coming up with other peoples stones.

I touch it. And I don't touch you.

I want to hold you and feel you.

I want to hug you and touch you.

Instead I end up looking around.

Seeing things through my brothers eyes and my parents eyes.

They were here first,

they travelled these roads before me.

I imagine that.

The way they walked.

The way they walked with you.

I wasn't there that day,

but I find the place my mother sat.

I imagine I know where my father stood.

I see my brothers strong and broken at the same time.

I did not walk with them that day,

but I walk to you now.

Adina, how I loved you.

How I love you still.

How I feel around to try to find something to hold onto.

I walk on this road,

I do not know what comes next.

I do not know.

Sadness Pocketed

I have sadness pocketed.

I walk around smiling. I take care of my kids.

I order two pies of pizza and fries please.

I say thank you and smile.

But, when I walk to my car-

I put my hands in my pocket and feel the sadness.

I have sadness pocketed.

I say, "Thank G-d, fine."

When they ask me how I am.

I say, "She is so strong."

When they ask me about my mom.

I smile and wave,

and watch them watch me.

"So sad." I hear them say, "So sorry."

I smile,

"It's OK."

See, I'm smiling. It's really OK.

I walk away and keep smiling.

Such a stupid grin I have plastered on my face.

Do you think I fooled them all?

Do you think they think I have nothing in my pockets?

School Notes

I told my daughters teacher about you.

I wanted her to know that my daughter was loved by you.

That she is still the same seven and a half year old,

but she is missing a great love.

Her teacher smiled and welled up,

she said 34 is oh, so young!

Imagine if I had told her how you sat cross legged on the floor and played Polly pockets with my girls.

How you noticed things about each one of them and made them feel special.

How when you came to visit you unpacked the most thoughtful gifts,

wrapped with love and little notes.

Imagine if I told her how deeply we miss you.

How we have sadness shared between us.

I Sing Out Of Tune Now

I have not listened to music yet.

I was not allowed to for 30 days and now I am afraid to.

Words are so hopeful when strung together in song,

"Its going to be you and me forever."

So hopeful.

My hope has left me a realist.

Sometimes the worst thing that can happen does happen.

My sister loved songs. She loved them all.

I hear her in every melody, I hear her in every chorus.

So hopeful. So happy.

In ever psalm my mother utters,

I hear my mothers sweet, pure voice and it makes me hear my sister.

It's an echo.

Sing to me.

Sing for me.

The radio is different.

I am afraid of the songs that might come on, the emotions that might get released.

The memories that might find me.

Because we all know I am hiding.

Where I am the music does not play.

Downloading

I know it will be here soon.

The wave of sadness that can not be held.

I know, because I have held it before.

I have held it close to my chest.

My arms overflowing with this great sadness.

I have carried it out of my house,

and into my car,

and drove it over to my mothers.

"Here mommy, " I say clutching my chest, "I am this sad."

But, she stands there too with her sadness.

Stands there smiling at me.

"Be thankful that she was your sister." Her smile tells me.

I know it's coming.

Tonight I put my daughters to bed.

I placed supper on a plate for my husband.

I kissed the kids, and read them stories.

I thought how good it will feel to scream in the shower.

I know it's coming.

I have held it in before.

I have spoken to my brothers of every possible situation,

all the what ifs and what did we haves?

A lifetime of love in just 34 years is too short.

It overflows in sadness.

It's almost here now.

I am really too little to feel this sad.

I am just a younger sister.

It's 99 percent here now,

this sadness.

You Are Our Heart

I'm tired, because exhaustion has made my body soft.

Soft and easy to hurt.

I feel the pain of everyday corners striking me on my sides.

I bang into people words and find them so hurtful.

"Everyone" They say.

I wonder who "everyone" is? And who it leaves out?

I let myself wonder and watch "everyone."

"Everyone" in my family sits in groups.

We marvel at our yesterdays and cant fathom tomorrow without Adina.

We hold up pictures to the light and see things we never saw before.

Adina, you were so beautiful to the world. You were so treasured by us.

Everyone can see that.

Everyone knows.

I want to tell everyone that we are devoted to your memory.

That we learn from the way you lived and loved.

I want everyone to know that you were my sister.

Everyone.

I let the words find a way to my heart.

It stings.

Everyone.

Gratitude to G-d

My parents keep telling me that we have to say Thank you for the gift of my sister. That we must be thankful to Hashem for giving us the gift that was Adina. I want to say sorry, and forgive me, and I miss you. I want to say remember when, and remember always, and remind me if I ever forget. But, tonight I want to just say thank you.
Thank you Hashem for giving me and Liora the greatest older sister. Thank you for making her kind, and warm, and nurturing. Thank you for the bedtime stories she used to tell my younger brothers and I got to listen to. Thank you for our singing contests, that she always won.

Thank you Hashem for making us be able to remember and smile.

Adina had the most original sense of humor. She kept us gals on our toes. She loved her family so very much. I look at my niece, her husband, her in laws. My brothers, My sister, My parents, My children, and feel that they have been loved by Adina. We all were. We are all stamped with her love.Thank you Hashem for blessing us with Adina in our family. Thank you for leaving us with the warm imprint in our hearts.

Thank you Hashem for the gift of my sister.
Thank you for the tremendous light she was in this world.

Thank you for allowing me the privilege of spending her last days together with her.
Thank you for entrusting us with such a special Neshama.
Thank you Hashem.

A letter I found from the beginning of August

Here it is.

I will write my feelings out and then they will be recognized. 'You see that?" Right there!" My friends can say, "She felt sad. Do you see the way she did that? Between the periods." Its all here. All the pain of no longer being me. Here it is. You can say you received it. I will have written it. Then I can go and on and drown myself in high fats and feign interest when I hear people talking about weight watchers.

The pain is that deep.

Its not even in the words anymore. I used to be able to write and show people my pain in the way my words were running. The way my commas, lined themselves up after words like deflated, alone, worried, sick, sister. Now, I want to get out a camera and capture the images. Because I cant say the words you need to hear to feel like you are living inside my head. Why should I be so alone? Let me make up a photo blog and point in silence.

"You see?" I will ask you, without meeting your eyes, "You see my family?"

And I will take out all my childhood photos and let you adore us. We are that freakin' adorable.

'Here, now please 2009."

My sister.

My father unable to drive back to Toronto until the pain is under control. Pik lines of morphine. My sister reading sophie kinsellas new book. My brothers reading but not registering my pins.

A picture of me, alone.

My younger brothers baking zucchini and sweet potatoes in the oven.

There are some pictures you can not describe. You hear it in your younger brothers tone.

He is in New york.

You are far enough away to just call in.

Dialing. Dialing.

There never is the answer you want to hear waiting for you.

You have to follow it down all the familiar halls.

The way the hospitals do it is damning.

I have been with her there.

I can see my brothers in the cafeteria.

halls and halls of hospital bed.

You see this picture,

this is not my sister in a hospital bed.

This is not her with open scars, and marks.

She is never sick to me.

The words they use to describe her feel like words threading a necklace.

The ones you make in camp out of cereal. The ones I eat.

If pictures can say a thousand words, then these are mine.

But the picture worth the most is the one I can not take.

Because I am not close enough.

Ezra sent me a word, I have a picture of it in my head.

He said, "the doctor said they wouldn't be giving her this much morphine if it wasn't terminal."

I cant not spell.

Screen Savers

Mourning looks like my younger brothers masked in scruffy beards.

It's the sight of my family eating random foods to try and find something that does not taste like sadness.

My brother made ten eggs with onions last night. We had a buffet of eggs, cookies, Popsicles and pesto sauce.

What a spread of sadness.

I say, "Can I use the computer?" Because I need a screen in front of my face.

We all do.

There are four macbooks open to different pages.

But we, are all seeing the same things.

Adina, how we loved you.

Full On Sad

I drink fruit punch out of snack size cartons.

I cry in the shower.

I eat cookies in dozens. Eggs in twos.

I smile,

because I don't want to feel this sad.

I'm managing my anger.

I file it away in neat compartments,

"To eat now," To eat later," and "to not eat."

To eat now tastes like butter, Crisco and white bread.

To eat later,

tastes like chicken, noodles and vegetables.

To not eat,

tastes like words.

Words like "Deserve," and "Unforgivable."

But I'm not angry anymore-

I'm not even hungry anymore.

I'm just full.

Speech From August 17, 2009

Adina, you asked me to speak, you said, "Naomi read one of your letters." Because you knew that what I could not say to you, I wrote for you. Tonight I came home after you closed your eyes with a perfect, beautiful smile on your lips and I can not find the right words. You had them all. You knew what to say and you watched your words and never said things you shouldn't have said. Your speech was perfect. I am writing the letter you asked me to write, but I will forever be rewriting what I want to write to you in my heart.
You were the greatest older sister to me and liora and you were the treasured younger sibling of the older kids. Last night I stood in the hospital listening to mommy talk about what type of baby you were. How even then, in infancy, you didn't want to bother anyone. You never cried, she was saying, you were a perfect baby.
I have these snapshots of you. Perfect ones. That you were beautiful inside and out, no one can deny. That you handled the pain you were in with dignity and with super human strength everyone can attest to. That you were the greatest friend to your childhood friends- is seen in the friends who visited you and held your hand these last few months. That you were an amazing, selfless, loving, and giving mother- we can all see in Liba.
But, you were my older sister. And it's from the eyes of an adoring younger sister that I am writing this letter. We will miss you forever, our family is broken without you. You did everything for us, up to and including preparing us to continue marching on now. Your greatest gift to us siblings was your unconditional love, the way you devoted yourself to us. To our lives. Your greatest chessed was the way you taught us with your emunah. You said "thank you" but a genuine thank you to Hashem even for the pain you were having. "Naomi," I can hear you saying, "everything is Hashem. There is nothing but Hashem. There is only good. Even this is good."
Adina, you were a song. You were always singing your tehillem. Your teffilos. You were always smiling.
I have the strongest memories of you taking care of me. Of you allowing me to sit in the back seat of your teenage years and watch with admiration. You cared for me so well.
As kids, the little gals were known as "adina gals sister" or "adina gals brother". It was a title we loved to have and be known by.
Liba- you are your mothers daughter. My sisters light still shining brightly in this world.
Her tune still singing, Praising Hashem.
To my brothers and liora- you are each amazing. Strong shoulders. You carried adina through these times. I know how safe adina felt with my brother ari, because she mentioned it so many times.
Adina felt blessed to be my mother and fathers daughter. She vocalized it. She got to say how much she loved being loved by them. Adina you were a gift, full of life and laughter. Your life is a gift now. One I will always treasure. Adina, please be mochel me and liora for anything we have done to you. Please forgive me and liora.

Thank you for the gift of my sister

Tonight we had a business meeting. I had to leave. They were talking of 2 months from now, six months from now, one year from now. 2 years from now. The years were just flying forwards. Every glimpse I had of this future was terrifyingly sad without my sister. It started to add up in my head. 2 months, plus 6 months, plus 2 years. I couldn't do it. I can't always think of moving forward, when backwards is where my memory roams.
In my past, I have never ending images and memories of my sister. In my future, I have none. I ate my fish in sections. Divided into; holding back my emotions, then eating them.
I felt like I would throw up when my tears starting coming. The taste of fish with my own salted waters revolted me. Something was so sad about the way I ran down four flights to my parents.
I found my grandmother watching golden girls. A funeral episode. My grandmother asked "My dear, why are you crying? Is it because the funeral is so funny?"
My father was comforting. My father! My sister would think I was crazy to come here for comfort. I should be bringing comfort, not coming with my baggage- asking them to be filled with their strength.
Please G-d let me hold onto whatever they are riding on. It is so painful without their belief. I feel so lost and terrified.
Tasting tears and fish.
Over and over again.
Swallowing my tears. Eating fish whole.
My parents have faith beyond food. I have one belief. I believe that if I eat everything. Consume it all. I will be unable to feel anything but full.
My father explained that my sister is supremely happy. That only we are in pain. He talks from one gemara to the next. One rabbi to the next. One rabbi lost a daughter.
Another rabbi lost his only daughter.
My father doesn't say he lost his daughter. But, he did. My sister is somewhere. And she isn't here with us.
My father says only the other nations rip their hair out and scratch at their faces when someone dies. Only they scream. My father says Jewish people don't do that because we believe our loved ones are somewhere better.
Only the people left here are sad.

Is it OK that in my sadness I want to be surrounded by my siblings and parents? The people who feel the loss like a gaping whole. The people who we're loved and cherished by Adina. And now have this loss looming whenever love is felt.
My mother and father need to keep comforting me because essentially I'm hopeless. I tell my parents I'm angry at what happened. But that I know we can only fear and love G-d.
My mother responds. "We have to be thankful. We have to Thank G-d. That we had our beloved sister in our family. We have to say Thank you. "

Left Behind

He says, "She left behind a daughter," Like she just left her there.

Oops, she forgot her most favorite things.

She left them right there.

Did you see that?

Her parents, her brothers, her sisters, her husband, her friends...

her child.

She left them all behind.

I hate that line,

"How many children did she leave behind?"

"She left behind a daughter."

"Her daughter is left."

My sister left nothing behind.

She was taken from us.

We are left without her.... but she did not leave behind a daughter.

My sisters last and loudest thoughts were of her daughter.

She left her in all of our arms.

Hold my daughter and love her until we meet again.

Teach her our ways and sing her our songs.

My sister tied everything up in perfect bows.

She left no strings untied.

She wrote us all letters, and spoke to us all.

She was at peace,

because she was so certain everything was for the best.

My sister did not leave behind a daughter.

I have strings, I have untied strands,

I have left so many things behind me

Unsaid words. Unfelt hugs. Untouched days.

And now,

unclaimed anger.

Grief and Grumblings

Half a sobeys cake. Guilt ridden in margarine. The way my sadness feels on empty is very different then it feels on full. I can watch my kids, and spend my days moving forward. But, every night I lie awake and know I have never left that hospital room.

I'm moving backwards now. Because I can't bare to go forward without you.

I love you, have loved you, will always love you well.

I look at my youngest daughter and feel that she was loved by you. They all were. All my girls are stamped with your love.

I notice things about them that you pointed out. That you loved about them.

They were so lucky and blessed to have you as their aunt. 

I tell them stories about you.

The littlest one says you need to redo her nail polish because it is chipping off.

You know, when I think of you, I think you did it all in 34 years.

I have perfect memories of you. Not one bad. Not one mediocre. Only perfect ones.

You were such a light in this world. We were gifted just by being related to you.

You brought our family closer together.

I work backwards.

This last trip in New york, you were soaring. You felt the holiness you were soon going to be apart of. You were so energetic, you were not sick. You weren't! The doctors told you that you were sick, but your mind was so beautifully free of all the labels on your medicine. You were full of belief. 

I sing your songs now.

I don't know all the words, and my voice isn't as sweet. I am not as peaceful nor as loving as you, but I find myself humming your songs. Singing your praise.

And you would smile, because I notice your other siblings are doing the same.

We love you so much.

I want you to feel it. I want you to look down and know how loved you are.

That we are searching through pictures, memories and letters from you just as any family would.

But....

we are different.

We have your strength, your beautiful faith, your complete trust in Hashem-

we have that still.

Its yours!

And we are holding onto it and not letting it go.

My sister,

I would love to go backwards and have been more caring. More giving. A better sister to you.

It is so cruel to have to go forward without you.

So sad.

Unbearably hard.

Please look down and see me trying for you.

Untouchable

I have changed,

but I look the same to you.

I must sound the same,

because you do.

I don't let you see my weakness even though my body tells on me.

I blink and hide my tears.

I eat ten meals a day

and chew on my hate.

I hate myself  like you must  hate me.

Passionately.

Painfully.

Last night I stayed up thinking of some of my favorite moments.

The images were so fun to hold,

to hug.

Then I tried remembering my last few years.

I had some award winning moments,

but the strangest things happened...

in all my snapshots of the last few years...

I can not see myself.

It scared me.

I tried to concentrate and see myself.

But I wasn't there.

Today I told my mother, my best friend,

and she told me it's because I don't do anything for myself.

But,

I don't think that's true.

Everything I do for my kids, is for me.

It brings me an unparalleled joy.

I shiver,

I have not gone in photos in the last couple of years.

Its so strange that even in my mind there are no proofs.

I have changed.

And I am waiting to change more.

When you change,

do you think? Is it possible?

You will change and notice me?

Hide and No Seek

I have lost it.

Completely. Totally.

I don't even know where to find it. Or what it would look like.

I know I look lost,

but it's because I am.

I came here looking for somebody, and found you.

And then, I forgot who it was I was looking for.

Remind me what the past looked like.

Where worry was one chord of a string of things,

not this.

High strung and holding shoe laces in my hands.

Remind me why you have forgotten us?

Why when I am crying and lost-

you can not help me.

Because I know you remember.

You have forgotten us.

I see you.

You have it all. The keys to start ignitions,

the memory of how it all was

and on your lips you have the words to bring me back.

But you have forgotten us,

and you forgotten me.

I am so lost that I am losing hope of ever being found.

I know you don't have the time,

but please, if someone comes looking for me...

I know my mother will, mothers never give up-

please...

show them where I am hiding.

0 comments

Its the silence I write in that fits me best.
It's quiet, and I am loud.
I imagine it fits me well..
this silence.

It is so tight and so constricting.
So silent and so frightening.

That sometimes when there are 0 comments,
and I know I am eternally unheard of...
I take a shower,
and run the water boiling hot.

...and then I scream.

I imagine the silence is good for you too.

Perfect

Perfect.

She asks the smartest questions and doubts our answers.

She is that smart.

Who buried Paroah when he didnt drown in the red sea?

When he was sent back to egypt, who went with him?

She wonders.

When the redemption comes will we still give birth to babies?

And will people die?

She asks innocently how my grandmother survived my aunt?

"Did she visit her in the hospital?" She wanted to know.

And then she dreams in nightmares,

that only my own dark mind can understand.

We paint our dreams the same shades of black,

and I smile when she asks to say a prayer for sweet dreams.

You are my smartest weapon.

My greatest gift.

My truest love,

my first chance at motherhood,

and my smile...

I miss you painfully when you are at school.

I think of you always,

I see your face smiling at me,

mirroring mine...

and I love you endlessly.

I hope you had a great day at school today.

I prayed for it.

unresponsive and happy

You are happy.
I find myself trying to fit in somewhere amidst your happiness.
But, I'm too darn noticeable.

I pin you and you read my pins,
and you don't respond.
send. read. respond.
That never happens.
I send. you read.
no one responds.

You are happy.
And I find myself happy for you and lost for me.
Losing 30 pounds in one week and then eating Hershey's chocolates to
counteract weight loss and feeling lost.

Where are you? When you could be right here?
When I have folded back the covers for you,
and sent out all my pins?
And waited the wait of the restless woman,
because it's never getting any shorter or easier.

You work like mad. You toil, I toss.
You turn, I'm turning.
We just never seem to be in the same place at the same time.

You left me at home,
bound by my recent Cesarean.
Feeling lonely for you.

And watching your happiness prelude us.
I am so happy for you.
Because that's how I love you.
Unconditionally,
even when your love for me,
is unresponsive.

I Doubt It

Why don't you love me more? Miss me more?

Come and see the new holes I have made,

incisions replacing indecision's.

My motherhood, like a manhood mocked...

seems smaller now, and smaller still,

shrinking to fit a mold I am now forever in.

Those woman at the mall, those questions they ask,

are they rhetorical?

All natural? They used to wonder...

and only now, un natural- do I feel the world sting.

Why don't you see the holes and try to fill them?

Reason with love and rid me of this worry.

Find a way to hold me when you hands can't reach me.

Why?

It's the only question that haunts me.

This love, this madness, this passion that creates things.

Then daughters.

Then doubt.

Why don't you hold me in place and tell me you need me?

You see me.

You know me.

And that your right here beside me.

Because when I look,

I see myself shrinking and I'm scared you do too.