Friday, January 15, 2016
s, or death anniversaries, are. It usually falls out on the same week. It's interesting, as well, that my brother, sister and I all thought Mother would pass away first. She was sick with terminal cancer, and Dad, while aging, still exercised regularly. Strange that he would get pneumonia, have a sudden heart attack and pass away two weeks later. Mother, on the other hand, stayed the course of the cancer and died just before entering hospice. Now, so many years later, it's mother's yahrzeit that is first and Dad's that comes after. Just weird how things work out.
On my Father's yahrzeit I met some dear friends for breakfast and then had to race across town to pick up my daughter. I knew if I went to pick up my daughter, I would never get to the graves of my parents, which is between the two sites. Time would never permit, as our family spends the afternoon with my mother-in-law. I made a quick decision and detoured to the cemetery.
As I entered the gates and headed towards their graves, I realized I didn't have the paper with their site numbers and couldn't remember it other than in general terms. I spoke then to my parents, out loud, as I headed towards them. I said, "Mom, Dad, I've got to pick up Devorah as soon as possible. I don't have time to look for you. Help me."
Vaguely aware of where they were, I stopped the car, got out and started walking among the headstones. And there they were. Not two minutes from the car.
I didn't stay long enough to start crying, but enough to tell them I love them, miss them, reveal the litany of problems I need help with.
But I felt them so clearly with me. I have never found their grave sites so quickly, even with the exact coordinates. They were there, guiding me along. After all these years, still feeling the love.