Yahrzeit ~ Shadows & Light: may remembering be a blessing
It turns out I know exactly the moment I stepped into end-of-life work and care. The very day, the very hour. I was driving down the hill on my dirt road in the woods just after a call came about a significant death (would I fly to California to preside at her memorial service?). Betsy had died.
The strangest sound came from my body. I distinctly remember thinking to myself, oh this is what keening feels like. Every cell in my body was resonating in the incomprehensible and unequivocal presence of death. The next day I was on a plane learning from everyone I sat with about the funerals they'd been to. What they loved, what they'd never want to sit through again. What they learned about their person. How they grieved. It was a crash course for a funeral celebrant and the first steps in a career I didn't see coming (when I got home I began to study and find colleagues).
I got dropped into the deep end of being a Celebrant with only my wits and 48 hours to fly across the country and prepare to stand before a gathering of many hundreds. I had to learn to say the necessary things. I stood my ground and luckily she had exquisitely articulate friends who carried the day. We sang together.
The next afternoon, finding myself on the California coast, I went for a spin to Big Sur and pulled in at Nepenthe's, adulting with a view and a martini (iykyk). Reflecting on it all, I found my feet just then on the other side of the threshold that keening had set before me. Blown wide open by the rawest grief, I'd stepped into the unknown. The grief was no less raw on the other side, is no less raw today ~ I've learned to carry it and to let it change even as it continues to change me. In the weeks that followed my beloved mother-in-law died, followed by the chief bottle washer at the hippie farm school I'd called home. In three fell swoops, death transformed my understanding of life. I've never lived the same since.
Yahrzeit is a Yiddish word describing the yearly remembrance of a loved one’s life and death. We light a candle, say whatever version of a kaddish prayer fits our personal tradition and philosophy, and make time to remember. As we know, there are as many ways of expressing being Jewish as there are stars in the sky. I don't believe there is one better way, aside from the one way that feels good to each person. Here is the prayer I've come up with in 20 years of being a Funeral Celebrant. I recited these words to honor Besty's existence here on earth:
May Remembering Be a Blessing
a non religious alternative to the traditional Kaddish prayer
We celebrate the spark which illuminates life and fades at death,
and accept this great mystery.
In this world that is created new with each sunrise,
we open the robe of existence, crafted of fabric woven from every ordinary day,
with innumerable pockets sheltering all the moments and purposes that comprise a full life. A robe embellished with joys and accomplishments, made shiny at the seat by sharing life's table, frayed at the cuffs by sorrows, worn at the elbows from the labors of living.
May remembering be a blessing.
May the humor, common sense, and skills that she honed in life remain a contribution to her family and the community. And may her mistakes and challenges be remembered so that wisdom earned from her lessons learned will also stay with us.
May remembering be a blessing.
In this world where she learned, labored, and loved may her existence continue to radiate goodness, and may the things she created be put to use and appreciated.
May remembering be a blessing.
May our hearts beat steadily together in the rhythm of life as we remember her
in the fullness of herself, and release her now in love.
May remembering be a blessing to all.
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This week, 20 years down the same dirt road where I learned to keen, and with lots more training under my belt, I'm prepping a workshop for the MA Hospice and Palliative Care Federation conference. Walking the walk. This is a photo of Betsy in a reflective moment. In this work in death care she remains, still, my teacher. If I have been helpful to people in any way it is because this woman loved me, valued my company, respected me, saw and encouraged me. The most significant friendship of my life did not end in death. It turns out the conversation continues.
On Betsy's Yahrzeit her sister sent me two pictures I had not seen before. An earnest Betsy balanced in shadow and light, and myself from the wayback machine, smoking a cigarette on her front porch. A glimpse into the origin story of an End-of-life Navigator.
Time flies.
Life happens.
Death becomes a friend.
And remains a mystery.
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