redbird | shiva

We went to Havurat Shalom this evening so I could say kaddish. It was warm and sunny, so we could have the service in the back yard, and I didn't need a mask.

A couple of my old friends showed up, including Elly Freeman, who lived in the apartment next door to ours in New York for a while, and Elizabeth Stone and her twin brother Larry, who I went to college with. There were also several havniks, including two or three I don't know, who showed up because I needed a minyan.

Ruth, who was leading the service, kindly slowed down enough that I could say kaddish, reading the transliterated Aramaic from the prayerbook. Last Thursday, at my mother's flat, I couldn't get out even a syllable of the Aramaic, and I kept falling behind the rabbi.

It was comforting in ways that the other wasn't. I'm not sure how much of that was that I knew more of the people, and how much was because they were there for me to say kaddish: my mother's rabbi was there so my brother could say kaddish, and didn't think it was important for me to.

Adrian and I talked about my mother--Adrian first, because when asked to tell people about her, I drew a blank, because there's so much, and I didn't know where to start.

After the service, my friends stayed to talk for a bit, about my mother and also about the ways grief had felt for them. Some of them would have stayed longer if we'd wanted, but I was starting to feel chilly and had a vague awareness that we'd want dinner at some point.