Thirteen Years: A Milestone of Loss

At birth we celebrate the miracle of life. We imagine our baby’s life, their voice and character. We envision the milestones and pray for it all to go well, from the very beginning to each and every transition and juncture.

As parents we worry about every breath, each movement, and developmental norms. As the months and years pass unremarkably and without incident, we naturally start to relax comfortably into our lives and theirs. We learn to accept the typical ear infections and flu outbreak, the annoying stomach bugs and cuts and scrapes. We are grateful for immunizations and brilliant healthcare for the routine childhood illnesses.  

We embrace their first steps, early words, solid food, starting school, making friends. Then come the playdates and homework and kindergarten graduation. First grade brings us to tears, eighth grade graduation comes in a flash, and before we know it, high school ends and we’re moving our kids into college. Our hopes and wishes don’t stop there, as we dream of their marriage partners and building their own families as the cycle of life continues.  

In our tradition, the Bar or Bat Mitzvah year is a momentous and beautiful milestone, celebrated for boys at 13, and for girls at 12 years. It’s one of those moments that we have thought about since birth, a throwback to the words we prayerfully uttered at the circumcision ceremony – “May we see them learn well, do good deeds, and one day have a family.” We have looked forward to our children crossing precisely this threshold for over a decade, sometimes seeing this special time in our mind’s eye. It’s an enormously valuable milestone which deeply reflects our tradition as well as the legacy we hope and pray the next generation will continue. These are the basic building blocks of our lives, the moments which massage our hearts and enrich our souls beyond words.

But then, sometimes, the trajectory is interrupted by crises or illness, and with all of our might we push against the force that is pulling us off the tracks. Yet we falter, tumbling down into an abyss that we never before noticed, and into an oblivion that now redefines our child’s life.

For us it’s been thirteen years since Gilad’s passing. The same thirteen which held promise for the first part of our child’s life, for his transition to the start of adulthood, instead morphed into a turning point from which we have never returned. The genesis of our child, with a Bar Mitzvah portion of the same name, ended entirely too early, and not at all well. Gilad’s birth mirrored the very beginning of life’s existence, but he exited before the end, before the Torah cycle finished, and well before his adult life began. A dearth of celebration.

While his short life was meaningful, we all know it could have been so much richer and more productive; he could have contributed to the universe with his creative mind and charming spirit. This 13-year point in time since his death isn’t celebrated as much as honored and remembered. It’s a reverse milestone, counter to life itself, for what is there to rejoice when your child is gone? It’s sadness and disappointment rolled into one, and a void whose magnitude I don’t wish on anyone.

So what do we do with the emptiness created from his passing? We take measured breaths and treasure every moment we can remember from the (almost) 20 years Gilad was with us. All those months and years we shared with him were uniquely special, particularly now as we look back on that time. The years have passed too quickly, and we long for the past when we were able to touch and hold and hug him. Our tradition presses us to believe that one day we will see him again. I may not know what the next 13 years will bring, but I plan to embrace the blessings and cherish the memories from the years Gilad graced us with his presence.