My father died.
The second to last day of Passover. He had been in hospice for two months. We knew it was coming. We had months to process and love and grieve and rage at God and all of that.
And then he died.
I don’t know what I am ready to share. I don’t know that I am ready to share.
For those of you who have lost a parent, you know how I feel. You tell me you do. For those of you who have lost someone else you were close to, you also tell me you know how I feel.
But you don’t. Because you’re not me losing my Abba.
I appreciate condolences and care and love, but I am alone in the singularity of my loss.
Jewish mourning is profound and I am deep in it. I hope to be able to share more soon.
For now, I am praying a lot. And remembering a lot. And crying. And also laughing.
Because to every thing, there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven.