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Columns: January 2004

How I coped with losing 3 family members in 8 weeks

By Jan Rose

What a summer we had! First one brother-in-law, unexpectedly, then another that was expected for a long and agonizing time, then Dad. In a period of eight weeks, three beloved family members had been ripped out of our lives forever. I felt as if I had been beaten on all sides. How would I cope with these painful losses? My brother and sister do not observe much tradition, my mother only wanted to crawl into her own space to grieve her losses. Am I the only one to say Kaddish for my father?

Dad died on a Friday. We memorialized him on Sunday, but because of the holiday weekend, couldn't inter him until Tuesday. With the amazing support of Rabbi Aron on Sunday and Cantor Felder-Levy on Tuesday, we went through the customary ritual of memory and placement in Dad's final resting place. But by the time the interment ceremony had ended, I could barely put one foot in front of the other and I certainly couldn't utter a coherent sentence. How would I ever recover from this horrific loss? With the loving support of my husband, my rabbi, my cantor, my havurah, my Shir Hadash family, my Federation family, and other friends — and with the wisdom of our tradition — I began to take baby steps toward healing my pain.

My Federation family brought me food so I wouldn't have to think about cooking or planning meals. They came every day to be with me during lunchtime and made sure I had something to eat then, and later for dinner for both John and me. Then there were the shiva minyans at our home. I have no idea how it happened, but every evening at 7:30 p.m. people arrived to comfort me, to say the evening prayers and support me as I recited the ancient words of praise to the One who gives the ultimate comfort and peace to us all. I was amazed as people from every part of my life streamed into my house that week.

Even before the end of shiva I knew that one week of ritual would not be enough for me. I needed to mourn my father in the same way he mourned his. Dad had been raised in an Orthodox home; he went to minyan every day for 11 months to say Kaddish for his father. I knew, as a practical matter, I would not be able to do that, but I hoped that I could have a daily minyan at my office each afternoon for the month of sheloshim. I mentioned this to Rabbi Aron, and she immediately offered to put the word out and help me in that endeavor. She provided a supply of weekday siddurim for us to use and promised to try and come some of the days. I emailed, I announced at shiva minyan, I visited my friends on the JCC campus, and I prayed that somehow we could have a real minyan for the next four weeks.

On my first day back to work, the right number of people miraculously appeared at 3:45 p.m. I was stunned. The next day, again enough people. And the next, and the next. Now I was awed. As each day passed, colleagues and friends from every part of my life appeared and reappeared at my office at the appointed time, some making a 20-minute drive to be with me for a 10-minute service. I began to feel the strength that had been whooshed away by the painful losses of the summer, gradually returning. God was making miracles every day at the Federation office. I tried to express my gratitude each day to the people who were there with me, supporting me, comforting me, loving me. But as hard as I tried to put those powerful feelings into words, I learned the meaning of the expression "mere words;" I couldn't truly convey all that was in my heart.

Our tradition says we should not participate in "entertainments" during mourning. Most people who observe that tradition, give up going out socially, dancing, listening to music or radio, watching TV… that sort of thing. What I found was that, for me, listening to the radio or watching television was just noise. Going out socially didn't hold any pleasure for me, although being with our havurah was very comforting and like being with family. I really hadn't intended to follow any particular tradition regarding "entertainments," but I found that they were irritating rather than enjoyable for me, so I didn't pursue them for a while.

By the end of sheloshim, I was feeling much stronger and was ready to move to the next phase of grieving for my losses. I was ready to resume a more normal routine that included some of the things I hadn't done during the previous month. While I still haven't found the same pleasure as before in some of the routine activities of my life, I've learned to go slowly with some things and let them back in as I continue to gain strength and a feeling of wholeness again.

I have volunteered for many years as a chaplain aide for Jewish Family Service, visiting elderly people who live in retirement communities and assisted-living homes, and leading Shabbat evening services on a monthly basis. I've also volunteered as a lay leader for Shabbat services and shiva minyans for Shir Hadash. The people whom I have served have always expressed how wonderful the services were, how grateful they were that I came to do them, and so forth. I've always thought that what I was doing as a volunteer was really no big thing. I was just reading or chanting the prayers that we all know. Anyone could do what I was doing. Not anymore. I've been on both sides now, and I can't begin to express how powerful it is to receive the comfort and love that others have brought to me during this difficult and painful time. I will forever look at the volunteer work that I do as a gift that I bring to those I serve.

I have learned many things in this process of moving from grief to wholeness. The most important lessons have been about the importance and wisdom of our ancient traditions. They weren't just made up by a bunch of mean old rabbis who were trying to come up with some rules. They came about from a society in which every individual is important and worthy of comfort and support in times of great stress. The healing strength that comes from a loving and caring community cannot be measured. The importance of being a part of that kind of community, to be ready, willing and able to provide the kind of support I have received over the past two months, cannot be measured. Each individual who has played a role in my recovery from grief has been a blessing not only to me, but also to our entire community because those people are not just doing these kindnesses for me, they are doing them wherever and whenever they are needed. I feel proud to be among them and I will be forever grateful for the gifts they have brought me.

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