God is Everywhere

Driving long distances is always a self talk overload for me. A round trip, on my own with the kids, in less than 24 hours, for a funeral, is the epitome of thought overload though. I'm not surprised by my meltdown, frustrations and anger that overflowed today after not being able to find the time to write, until now, after such an overload. Now, I have to try to remember it all because as always, I find what I write in my head, especially while driving (with the kids asleep), to be much more beautiful than what I ever seem to pour out here. But out it must come because I don't like the mean, angry, annoyed, short tempered mommy, wife, Jaci one bit.

Death is a part of life and I'm okay with that. I've always been. I haven't experienced much death in my life though either. I also tend to believe if a person is older, at least 85  in my mind, and their health has been failing, mentally and/or physically and if they feel they have led a happy, wonderful life then I shouldn't feel sad per se. If they were at peace or "ready", as ready as one can ever be when facing death, then I'm okay.  I feel their life should be celebrated. I do cry when I see the pain of others though, even in these cases. I cried for Craig's pain at the sudden death of his grandma a couple years ago. Despite her age, it was unexpected. I cried for him again and for my mother in law a year after at the passing of his other grandma, who met my "criteria" for why we should celebrate her life. I didn't know my grandma, I was only 5 when she was diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer's in her 40's. She passed when I was near;y 12, but she was already gone for a long time and it was very painful for my family to see her like that. I cried for my Pap when he lost his best friend and brother, my (great) Uncle Schmully. And I didn't really know my Uncle Jimmy well, who just passed. I don't know most of my dad's side of the family very well, but I know he'd been in poor health for years and was dealt a pretty crappy hand in life. He fought a lot of adversity but I never heard him complain. He always asked about me and my family and genuinely cared which always meant so much to me. I pray he's at peace but my heart hurts for my grandma. I can't imagine losing a child at any age, under any circumstances. And that's all I know of death really.... Except for my Pap.

I used to talk about my Pap all the time. There wasn't a person in my life who didn't know him, personally or from my stories. And they all loved him too, they all called him Pap. I think I can safely say he was the most important person in my life for a very long time, along with my mom, of course. He passed last Father's Day and as I try to grieve this loss, I often wonder if the ache and emptiness will ever subside. So, I try not to think of it. I smile when I look at the pictures of him I have around. I smile when I'm driving and think of some of the funny (and terrifying) times in the car with him. I smile because he gave me so much and I'm so thankful he was a significant part of my life. I always knew I was loved because his love never faltered. I always knew I had someone I could count on because he never let me down. I look at my kids sometimes and think, they won't know him, and my heart aches. I want to cry, I tear up, but I fight it because I'm afraid I won't ever be able to stop the tears.

All these thoughts talked to me on my drive back home. Maybe funerals will always result in such thoughts now, now that I've felt the pain of death. But my thoughts of death took a turn as I thought of my Pap and some of our talks and stories.

Going to church always leaves me very confused. I've never been able to wrap my head around some of the things that are said and I simply don't understand what some words and concepts even mean. Once again, I pondered many of the things I just didn't understand after the Catholic mass I attended for my uncle's funeral and this always brings me back to why and how I turned to my faith as a Jew. I was born a Jew, just like my mom and her mom and her mom's mom and so on and so on. I always knew and felt I was a Jew, despite not being raised Jewish or even having many of my questions sufficiently answered growing up. (This is a long story not for this post.) So, all these thoughts were swirling around together with my Pap and my mind wondered to one of my favorite memories with my Pap.

I had finished grad school and moved back to my hometown after recently returning from Israel. I was living with my Pap, again. I was working on my Israel scrapbook and as we had a couple times in my life, my Pap and I started to talk about God. My Pap was raised as an Orthodox Jew but had many embarrassing and unpleasant memories growing up that he had shared with me over the years. Combine that with my grandma getting sick and losing her so young, it was no secret he questioned God's existence. He, I feel safe saying though he never said these exact words, was angry with God for a very long time, probably still when he passed which makes me sad. Seeing his so angry when he passed on is one of the most difficult things for me to move past. But as I glowed, as only a person can after being in Israel (in my opinion), I excitedly told him about my trip, showed him the pictures, talked about him coming with me next time and proudly got his approval upon finishing each page, somehow our conversation turned to God. Not exactly a far stretch considering the topic but the part I remember the most went like this...



Pap: How do you know God exists?
Me: I don't know, I just do.
Pap: Well, where is He?
Me: Everywhere.









He looked at me with his beautiful hazel eyes and I could see both pain and pride.

Sometimes I'm surprised by this response. I didn't even think about my responses to these questions. The words just came out naturally. Maybe because I was still on my high from being in Israel, the culmination of a couple year whirlwind of finding myself as Jew, "catching up" I like to call it. Maybe it was because of the Kabbalah picture I bought from a wonderful man named Avraham (I think) in Tzfat means just that, God is everywhere and that was deeply moving to me. All I know is I'm not big on talking about God. It sort of makes me uncomfortable actually. I like to have my own relationship with God and I tend to just leave it with that. But this conversation has so much meaning for me. When I think about my words, they were quite powerful. The idea that God is everywhere is difficult for many to reconcile when dealing with things like death, for instance. I'd imagine that was the look of pain in my Pap's eyes. Wondering how God was there when my grandma got sick, so young and with so much life left to live. The look of pride, I believe, was because no matter what he felt, despite all that anger towards God and all that sadness, he was a Jew. Jews can't change being Jewish.  Sure, we can convert, it's not all that common though. Most simply lead secular lives if they choose not to practice. But being Jewish is more than a religion, which many don't understand. It's an ethnicity, a culture, a way of life and he was proud that I found my way.

As I smiled at this fond memory, filled with a multitude of meaning that my talk could take in more directions than I could keep up with (thankfully it's just one long road home) I had to pull it all together. Why did my thoughts go this direction considering I started off being utterly perplexed by the Catholic mass? All I could figure was to understand something I can't, my brain had to find something comforting to wrap around. Otherwise, I would get lost. Being Jewish is fundamentally who I am, it's comforting to remember who I am. With life being so uncertain in my home, I tend to feel lost often and easily. So, I figure this was my Pap reminding me of what I once reminded him, even if he didn't quite buy it... God is everywhere, you don't even have to look. Now I realize my Pap will always be with me, which is also comforting. And because of this memory, my Pap will always be able to remind me that I don't have to feel lost.

I just hope it doesn't have to take a death or attending mass to let my Pap in more often. It still hurts, I miss him so much, but I believe this is what us therapists call Acceptance in the stages of grief. I can't go back, and I can't stay here, so the only place to go is forward.