This Story's Pages: How much life can you fit in a year?

How much life can you fit in a year?

When I was 16, my father took me to Los Angeles for my birthday. I was fascinated at the time with movies and Hollywood and my dream was to meet Sandra Bullock (ok, you got me, it is still one of my dreams). We only had 3 days and our goal was to accomplish as much as possible. We woke up early, ran from place to place, ate on the go, planned routes to maximize our time, came home late, and slept very little. In the end, we saw everything on our list, except Sandra Bullock; turns out she lives in Texas.

My Abush was like that. He always did a lot with a little. In his brief life, he lived fully. He saw the world. He loved without boundaries. Ha launched new products. He had children. He helped others. He inspired. That is why, a year after his death, the most heart-breaking aspect of losing him is how much he is missing. He would have done so much with another year, especially a year of health and a first year as a grandfather. I ache when I think how much he would enjoy each emailed photo of Daniela. He would have loved Lior and Shoshi’s trip to the Galapagos, mirroring the one we did together in 2005. He would have been so proud of Neta going back to school.

We’ve also had a busy year, learning to be parents, watching Daniela grow, helping Ima to move from our house in Needham, weddings, 8 countries with Daniela, and many other firsts. Yet in terms of my grief, I feel very little progress. Throughout each day, the occasional swell of tears, a tight feeling in my throat, a wondering thought about a good memory, the what ifs, the pain that we can’t go back have become familiar aches and pangs that I almost find comfort in them. I am somehow reassured by the fact that it is not easier, that he is with me everyday, that he has not diminished in my life. At the same time, the weight of this loss gets heavier, and I am somehow disappointed in myself that in a year I have not been able to transform it. There are moments of clarity and love, when I think I can take this energy, his energy, my sadness, and use it to really live. Mostly, I feel this need to do something with what happened, something for him, in his memory, for me, for our family, and not knowing how is unsettling.

Recently, a friend of mine who lost a family member unexpectedly, shared with me that this tremendous loss has reminded her that more than anything we are here to love. In a shoebox in the closet I have letters from my father. Pieces of papers filled to the edges with love. I hang on to these like a lifeline. We are here to love. It is the most we can give. I try to live my life in honor of that purpose, to love more and to show it, because in the end, even a long life time, is not enough for all our love.

Daniela – there is nothing but love for Daniela. She’s fit so much life into one year since her birth. She’s learned to breath, open her eyes, smile, eat, poop, sleep (sort of), hold, sit, crawl, clap, stand, walk (almost), turn pages in a book, empty the book shelf, chase the cat, make sounds, open closets, climb into boxes, talk (in her own language at the moment), listen, give an object, take it back, understand, hug, kiss, eat food, drink from a cup, and make us smile. She has been to eight countries, and been on a 13 plane trips. For her birthday party in Uganda, she played with friends, had banana cake and the world’s best pineapples, was serenaded by two saxophone players, and received a live chicken as a birthday gift, quite the party for a one year old! It is hard to believe that Daniela is a year old. I remember her being placed on my chest when she was born, so small and so vulnerable. Now, she is almost a little girl, her personality shining through, and she is joyful, loved and loving, and I can’t be thankful enough for her.

My wish for the next year of Daniela’s life and another year we live in memory of my Abush is that we fit more life into the next year. Hopefully less airplane trips, but more love, more friends, more creative moments, more family, and more happiness.

Thank you for being in my life,

Inbal