sitting shiva on the cape

After the burial we all return to my mom’s house.  She is expecting about 50 people.

One of the traditions is to place a pitcher of water outside the Shiva home.  Anyone entering the house who is coming from the cemetery can then wash their hands to cleanse themselves of any cemetery demons. Valerie sets up the pitcher on a small table on the uneven walkway leading to the front door.  She washes her hands.  I go next and spill the entire pitcher of water.  I walk into the house to refill the pitcher and accidentally let the screen door close on Valerie’s finger.  When I apologize and ask if she’s okay, she tells me she’s not.  A few minutes later Alexander approaches me and says, “Well that went smoothly.”

The house fills up quickly and stays filled, as people come and go.  In all, I think over 200 people show up.  It is a tribute to my dad and mom that so many people come by.  And because there is so much food, there is also so much eating.

I am sitting at a table.  A friend of my mom’s comes over and says, “I am so sorry to interrupt, but I must tell you.  I just love reading your blog.  Every morning I sit down with my coffee and read it, sort of like watching a soap opera.”  My nephew Michael (the only one in my family who is a regular reader of this blog) responds, “No problem.  She loves hearing from her fans.” 

My mother’s sister and two of her sons fly up from Florida.  But mostly the people who come are from my parent’s neighborhood.  My mom is very popular and her friends range in age from 45 to 91.  My sister Jean has friends who come, and so do Val and I.  Even an old Boston boyfriend of mine appears.  The people Valerie and I knew growing up in Brockton are now Facebook friends, though some we haven’t seen since high school graduation, over 40 years ago.  One of them comes to the funeral.  My sister sees Robbie and after he introduces himself she says, “This is great.  My Facebook friends are coming to life.”

Most people leave by eight, and for some inexplicable reason, we are hungry.  The six grandkids go out for dinner.  The adults decide on pizza.  The first place we call is closed.  The second place is about to close.  Frustrated, my sister (not the one from Boston) turns to my mother and says, “How can you live in a place where nothing is ever open?”

With so many people coming on Monday, far more than anyone’s expectation, we assume no one will show up on Tuesday.  We are therefore unprepared when people start appearing.  We have plenty of food but no help.  My mom makes a phone call and is fortunate to find someone who is available.

It is a humbling experience to have so many friends and family come to pay their respects to my dad.  This Shiva is more celebratory than sad. 

One of my mom’s neighbors asks if I think my mom will be okay.  I am sure she will be.  She is strong and has no regrets. She knows she did everything she could for my dad, and in the end, he left when he was ready.

My mom is a young 84, and can now start living again.  She has many friends who want her for bridge or mahjong or book club or dinner or morning walks or even visits to New York.

I return home today, emotionally exhausted from the events of the last few days, and physically spent from being social for so long.  We will sit Shiva one more day and night at my sister Valerie’s home in Long Island on Thursday.  Jean and my mom will also be coming. I should start fasting now.