Well, I could write about how this year, February came in
December and January for some people very close to my heart. About how
everybody seems to have a February, and for some people, February is in February, but for some people, it’s
right now. What I mean by that is… it’s always someone’s February. And this is
just another reminder to approach the world with utter gentleness and awe.
Human beings are simply amazing in their capacity and
resilience and and and…
****
Third year of medical school is our first exposure to
clinical medicine, to patients and to the privilege of patient care. I’ve been having a lot of trouble giving words
to this process. This year is the first time I’ve experienced my daily February-ness
through the lens of a hospital… In some senses, the way that death is so much a
part of daily life feels “normal,” like in other parts of life we aren’t
encountering that deep truth, and at the hospital, it is woven into the moment
to moment. So authentic on some level. And also, my tender heart.
Why are there moments in life when death feels so close? All
around us…
And do I have wisdom to share with the people going through
that sort of time, except to say, “Mmm”? Not really.
But we can give hugs.
****
Something really hard for me in my “professional persona” is
conveying my “love” (because who are we kidding, that’s what it is at the end
of the day for me) to the people I am caring for/learning about, to the people
whose stories I am listening to and bearing witness to without physical hugs.
There’s obviously a lot of putting my hand on my quivering
heart to try and express it, and there was that one time (okay, twice), when (I
think because I’m studying medicine in Israel specifically), I blew a kiss to a
6-year-old cutie patient. (I mean, who hasn’t had a crush on a 6-year-old
recently?)
****
I had an oral exam on Wednesday, after which I decided to
sit outside and try to continue studying for the next test. I was sitting with
my big binder open, and this younger woman (40s) asked if I could watch her two
coffees for a moment. She returns with an older woman (80s). I move my bag to
make room for them to sit, and we start chatting and laughing. There was a
spark of connection. The older woman says to me, with a smile, “Would you
believe that she and I only met two weeks ago?” And I was like, “I thought you
were related!!” The younger woman turns to me says, “Are you ready for a story?
My mom died 8 months ago. And two weeks ago, I found a job as this lovely
woman’s caretaker, and since then… she took me in as her daughter.” She is
crying, and I am so moved… I told her immediately, your mom was looking out for
you. And then I shared that my mom died 8 years ago almost to the day. They obviously invited me to come for coffee
any time I am in the neighborhood.
A moment of connection that meant the world to me.
***
I miss my mom.
She gave me the moon. Eight years… 8… a symbol for infinity.
Infinite love.
Dudi and I just finished a FaceTime call-in to the azkara
for my mom. The tears just started flowing and flowing. It’s the second time
this month that it has felt like a faucet that has opened and now the stream is
flowing…
Going to continue to let it flow, to shatter me open, and
make me whole at the same time, as Tricia said.
This year, we published my mother’s book, “Raising Secular Jews” by Naomi Prawer Kadar. I have never felt such pride. I hold both her dedication and her acknowledgements close to my heart.
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