The last time I wrote was nine months ago, in the season of Christmastide. Not long after, in mid-February, my mother died. At 98, she had lived a full and invigorating life. She was, however, not interested in dying. Her nurse tried to get her to discuss the matter as she approached that passage. On the last day of her life, the nurse asked her whether she was prepared for what was about to happen, “Are you ready?” My mother answered simply, “no.” She became ill around this time last year, and caring for her became a focus for the autumn and winter. She was very close to her two younger brothers, our sweet and cherished uncles, one of whom had died a few years ago. At Thanksgiving time, in 2019, her second brother died. She lasted a few more months. She was an intensely political person, very concerned about the direction of the country. She was an advocate and activist for many worthy causes, affordable housing, health care, education, voter rights, women’s equal rights, Civil Rights. She worked in local politics and volunteered in national politics; she was a longtime member of The League of Women Voters. She feared for the outcome of the next election, knowing full well the dangers and reality of international interference in fair elections. We often thought, in addition to loving her family, she might have been wanting to stay alive to vote in 2020. Once she achieved the milestone of 98, we thought she might try for 100.

We had decided on a memorial of May 9th, the Saturday before Mother’s Day. Shortly after her death, the Covid19 pandemic escalated, and soon many people were working from home, practicing social isolation and distancing, and other Covid related measures. My vocation as a pastor changed dramatically, as our church learned to become an on-line congregation, an arduous learning curve for many religious leaders.

Easter and Passover came and went, then Pentecost and Shavuot. Now the High Holidays are approaching; this week, in fact, the Days of Awe begin. In mid-July, my beloved was diagnosed with a brain tumor, and our lives changed again, rapidly. About a month after his biopsy, he began chemotherapy. It became clear, again rapidly, my work life could not accommodate the needs at home. After several heart-wrenching weeks of prayer and discernment, I decided to retire earlier than I had planned. I am not comfortable with the language of retirement, so now, I might say, my vocation has shifted its focus to my primary call which is my family, and in particular, to spend time with and care for my nearest neighbor, my spouse.

Mortal illness in a family member or in oneself has a clarifying effect on what needs doing. My husband and I do not know how much time we will have together, now. We are wanting each day to matter, to be lived as fully and completely as possible. We had always wanted that, but embracing the truth that the fullness of existence is right in front of us is more important than ever. I will probably write more on this blog as time goes on. In the meantime, I am greeting each day with gratitude, even days like today, when my body hurts with unshed tears, for us, for the nearly 200,000 dead from Covid, for the losses and ongoing fires on the West Coast, for those endangered from the incoming swath of hurricanes in the Gulf, for those harmed and killed by continued and merciless racist violence, the weight of sadness from this last year in my own life. I am a teardrop. I breathe in and I breathe out. My husband is upstairs working as best he can. The room is full of morning light.

What will the new year bring? May it be a sweet one. L’Shana Tova