What do I say, Robert? This is sadly funny, or funnily sad?

Can I interest you in a nice plain omelet, perhaps? No harm can come of that.

Am so glad to hear that you'll be traveling to Eretz Yisroel. Remember, the Hebrew word for Turkey is "Tarnegol Hodu"--that's what you'll want to order.

Pearl:

What can I say but I'm, you know, food disabled. When Offspring #2 was in Sem I was there for Thanksgiving too. Y'see a pattern emerging?

That's a beautiful post about the mourning period, the time when life both stops and goes on. After reading this post, I looked at your side bar where you said that "People tell us that time heals, but Karen and I know that is not true. Time grinds away doing its terrible work." My father's death did teach me one peculiar thing about time, which is that its passage brings your loved one closer to you, not further away.

When my Dad first died, I couldn't bear to think about him because the hurt was too raw. Now, more than a decade later, I think about him constantly. I miss him a lot, but I'm able to revisit him in my mind without the sense of loss being so strong that I shy away. Whether I'm writing, spending time with my children, taking a hike, whatever, I can visit memories of him and share them with those around me. He's closer to me now than he has been in years.

I have no idea whether that sense of time and closeness is different when you lose a child, as opposed to a parent. I only know that, for me, time's softening effect has been very helpful.

Bookworm:

Thanks so much for your beautiful and lovingly observed comment. Karen and I have learned that grief has no fixed pattern. It is a far shore that plays itself out differently for most everyone.

As for time's softening the loss, well, for our Ariel ZT'L, this effect has not yielded the predicted result. In fact, only now, three years after our beloved son's death, have the raw materials of grief been translated into an overwhelming emotional tsumani. Yes, a wall of denial can be that strong.

Dear Robert,

It really hit me tonight how immeasureably fortunate you are to have Ariel's "mother as your wife."

I know what it's like to raise a child only to have him snatched away, as it were, right at the edge of young adulthood, and just as you were about to reap the harvest of a son having grown up into a (man)tsch, catastrophe befell you and Karen and all who both knew nad loved your son.

So much of the literature about the effect of a child's loss on the stability of marriage argues that bad marriages become worse and worse marriages end up in divorce.

In my own case, Ben's mom and I were already divorced for nearly two years when Ben left us. Aside from a brief moment at the hospital when I told her, Ben's mom is really the only person in my (former?) family with whom I have never grieved-as peculiar as that may sound.

I guess my point, however obtuse, is that the woman you have loved since you were a mere lad of ten years, remains-not only Ariel's mom but your beloved despite tragedy, mourning and interminable grief- though I am sure that you and Karen have had your bad days since as well!

I write this note tonight as a reflection-not only of my obvious empathy for your and Karen's loss, but as a thank you for the enormous benefit your words have had on me these two years since having learned about your blog from a friend.

Finally, forgive me for sounding so maudlin on this, the eve of the 6th Hebrew yartzeit of Benjamin Z'L.

I remain ...

Very Sincerely yours,

Alan D. Busch

Alan:

Thanks so much for writing. Yes, odd as it sounds, I am lucky. Without Karen's strength and solid core, I would spin away into the black coreners of the universe. Too, I serve as an anchor for Karen when her grief descends and becomes a blinding darkness.

I have read "The Book of Ben." I can only imagine what it took for you to compose this elegy for your beloved son. Each loss is so different. Each such a unique tragedy that there is no way to wholly comprehend the grief the other is feeling. All that's left is to be an honest witness and say: "Yes, I hear. Yes, I will try and help you keep those memories alive."

I can only add to Robert's comments that my grief is forever surprising me in that with time I realize how defended I have been in the first few years. The loss has been so grave, so wounding, so shattering to my essential being that I could not absorb it. I actually became a stranger to my own son in a way. My memories were hazy, my connection was somehow distant -- just not cohesive or coherent. Now as time passes the paradox is that I feel closer to Ariel. I feel his presence, and I miss him even more. Somehow the defenses have thawed and I have reconnected and I can imagine him in my life again. Now I am bereft and I realize what has happened and I after THREE years it has hit me. My dear Ariel is gone forever. I can touch the pain and like a person who touches a hot stove I recoil -- there is no choice. The alternative is constant pain.

I haven't the proper words to share, so I'll just say good post.

Jack:

Thanks so much, very kind of you.

It's strange how a person becomes so attached to his loved ones that it soon becomes very uncomfortable to be without them. I feel a very painful absence whenever I go out without Adar, however infrequent that occurs or insignificant the event. To tell you the truth, it's kind of a nice feeling to want to share everything with someone.

Jake:

At the anniversary party I was watching a friend who is no longer married. In fact, he was involved in a pretty bitter divorce. I tried to imagine what it's like living with someone you don't love, what it's like living with someone who you don't want to "share everything."
I have to tell you, I was riven with a kind of black fear that is truly horrifying.

Robert, as you know, it's this kind of writing that first brought me to S.S. and coming back over and over.

The words that you and Karen share reach right into my soul.

Thank you for so honestly expressing your feelings of grief...you may never know the extent to which your words have touched those of us who read here.

Cruisin' Mom:

It's a particular pleasure to hear from you for along with Jackie Danicki, Toronto Pearl and Jake Novak, you are one of Seraphic Secret's earliest readers and commenters. That every once in a while we manage to graze your soul with our thoughts and words profoundly moves us. We hope this friendship, born of words, nourished by Babke, the Ariel Avrech Memorial Lecture, the Los Angeles Gun Club and most recently the delicious Meat Grilling, will continue to flourish on-line and off.

Very moving and evocative. Perhaps the upcoming Thanksgiving in Israel will be a "family reunion" in more ways than one?

(also, Those are simple but great bits of advice. For some reason structure comes more instinctively; dialogue is difficult.)

Jeremiah:

Thanks so much, glad you enjoyed this posting. It's ironic that my more torturous hours consistently yield Seraphic Secret's most popular blogs.

I'm sure our Thanksgiving in Israel will cede mountains of literary gold.

It is odd how dialogue--delightful and often just a vacation romp for me--is a bloody Joan of Arc torture for some of my screenwriting buddies. But I know of no one, absolutely not one writer who finds structure "easy." At least no one who writes quality films or TV.

"The words that you and Karen share reach right into my soul..."

Robert, Randi is sooooooo right. Those words of yours are inspirational -- as a result I've written poems in the past two years that come from somewhere deep in me, often a place I didn't know even existed. Sometimes I think I have a seraphic angel sitting on my shoulder as I create these poems...

Pearl:

Funny, I'm sure I speak for Karen when I say that we never reach for "inspiration" when setting down our thoughts. But we are glad to know that every once in a while we seem to hit the right note. We should probably gather your poems here on Seraphic Secret and share them with all our readers. What do you think?

Your blog is a vehicle for you and your writing, not for me and my poetry. You were kind enough to publish one in The Book of Ariel...that was a beautiful way to share, as well.

As a matter of fact, I just submitted two of the "Ariel" poems for consideration for the next issue of PARCHMENT, hopefully coming out in the spring -- as there were not enough funds to publish it in the fall, which is when its launch usually coincides with the Toronto Jewish Book Fair. My poem "Soul Light," which was published in last year's issue of PARCHMENT, was also an "Ariel" poem.

Pearl:

Do keep us informed as to the progress of Parchment and your beautiful poems.

I liked this piece. I recall your writing sometime ago about speaking to a school and telling them the writing/rewriting mantra. I hold of that rule... Wait, let me write that...That rule strikes me as true... OK - last try: So true.