I have been silent but inside emotions roil, voices resound. The pain has quieted but it is present still.
At times I still feel small and shy. As a child I considered myself different, my own unique being whom no one ever really understood. Even as an adult I carry within me that uncertain, inner child. I pull back, emotions tucked neatly in, and breathe deeply. The drama of family weaves an everlasting challenge, and we are often poised to play roles we didn’t choose. So we dance an awkward show of life.
Do we ever reach an age where we have leverage over our thoughts and actions?
Why is my self-doubt not tamed by now?
What measure of self-assuredness is enough to upend the questions we struggle with, the issues we thrash against?
When did my sensibilities and deep-seated beliefs flee?
August is the earthquake of my life, when my inner strength is as shaken as the ground I stand on every single August 26. And this year December and January brought tremors of their own, creating new chinks and crevices in my terra firma-turned-quicksand that I am still painstakingly trying to patch and repair with my hands and heart, whether down on my knees or standing still.
With the end of summer comes the flood of emotion, unabated as if it’s fresh and raw. Yet this time it is not without warning; we fully expect and brace for it. But each year we are taken aback – surprised almost – that we failed to prepare for the pain that it brings.
I am blessed with my remaining children and their families, for my mother’s unending love, my family of birth, and my friends who truly understand and support me. I have learned to be more than grateful for the good moments, the kind people I choose to be with. I carry with me the love from years past, and especially from a boy who made me promise I’d be alright, and from last weekend in the Berkshires with those I love the most in the world. I cry tears for the life Gilad was unable to finish, for the pain he endured, and for the memories that I am afraid will vanish from our minds.
So I hold tight to my gratitude, to the silver-lining-grandchildren who offer sunshine, to the fortitude I inherited from my survivor father. I promise that I will rock and nurture my inner self, and encourage that uncertain child so that I can dismiss my skewed perspective and confusion and simply be a sad mother deeply grieving her son in August.
If my heart is still full of Gilad, it cannot be silenced. Our boy left us with his thoughts and passion and talents and his voice, and we cannot quiet the part of him that continues to reside within each of us.