Yesterday was a beautiful day. The sun was shinning and the world was blooming with colors. Yesterday I took my children to the cemetery to see their father’s headstone.
I have such mixed emotions about yesterday I am not sure where to begin.
I had been dreading the day for weeks and weeks. I pictured my children standing over their father’s grave sobbing uncontrollably and me looking on helpless as the world fell apart around me. This didn’t happen.
The morning was not solemn at all. It began with my children looking at a photo album searching for the perfect picture to leave for daddy. This took my breath away, but I put on my super fake smile and we were off. As small as I wanted this gathering – basically just me - was not what I got. I told everyone not to come. Everyone. Some of my family listened, some did not. I think by telling everyone not to come was my way of just not wanting it to be real. But taking your children to their dead daddy’s grave is about as real as it gets.
My sister brought her three small children. Though it pained me to have them visit a cemetery, it was truly a blessing. The children ran around and chased each other as we walked to the grave. A walk I have done a thousand times, but not like this. We stood next to the grave and the children sat on the earth above his body. My son traced the lines of his father’s name and the words adoring father with his fingers while the prayers were said. I said something but I don’t remember what it was. I just know I was looking into the eyes of my children and they were not crying.
All the children lined up little rocks around the stone decorating it. My babies took their photo and buried it in the dirt so it wouldn’t blow away. It was such a beautiful sight and so awful all in one breath. I was dreading sharing my special space with anyone and here they were acting so precious with their dead father just feet away. My step son looked sad and the rest of the family just watched as the children took stone after stone and seemed to never want to stop.
My son didn’t want to leave. He asked if we could come back once a week. I said that was too often. We agreed on once a month. Then just like that it was over. We left the cemetery and came home to eat like all good Jews do.
When the family left for their homes and it was just me and the kids I cried. I stood in the bathroom sobbing over this awful morning. Then I packed up some stuff and took us to the park.
They played all day with their friends like it was just another Sunday. They never brought up the morning and rather than psychoanalyze their every move – I just let them go be kids. The friends who knew where I was brought me rum sizzle drinks and beer and whatever else they had to keep my smile going.
It was at some point yesterday that I looked around and thought, so now what? Everything I must do for my husband is done. Now what? Now I am supposed to just live my life like I have been but without him. Now I am supposed to just raise my family and go to work and act normal? Now what? This is all I kept asking myself.
I spent the afternoon in the park watching other fathers teach my son how to play baseball and push my daughter on the swings. It felt like a knife slicing through me to witness this. I am grateful for the people in my life who care so very much for us and I am so angry at the man who left all this behind.
So now what?
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