I don’t know what I expected to be doing on the last night of the Jewish year, but curling up into a ball and sobbing while my dog tried to comfort me by licking my face was definitely not on that list.
My mom was finally transferred to a residential care home on Thursday. She is not adjusting well and she lobbed some choice words at me over the phone on Friday that just drained me. I couldn’t get myself to go to Shabbat services or even watch the livestream. I’m just grateful that the staff at the home are caring for and not giving up on her. I feel relief knowing she’s in good hands, but I am a blubbering mess agonizing over the words she said to me, even though I know she didn’t mean them.
At a meeting a couple of weeks ago, someone asked what we were looking forward to in the new year and I was at a loss. I mumbled something about starting my graduate program in February, but what I really wanted to say was that I was too afraid to think about the good things because I don’t want to get my hopes up.
While I long to be surrounded by community, I also don’t want to be a burden. I know that’s irrational, but I worry that my prolonged sadness affects the people around me and I don’t want that. It’s almost a guarantee that I’ll cry during services tomorrow night and I am ashamed of how badly I’m handling all this emotion.
I went to the mall today to find a dress for Rosh Hashanah, which is something I normally would have done with my mom. I found a dress, one that is brighter than I normally wear. I figured I should bring in the new year with something light and airy, which is in stark contrast to how I feel.
I don’t know what I hope for in 5783. I feel so broken and it feels almost impossible to glue myself back together. I know that I will heal eventually, but it’s hard to believe that most days. I’ll get there, it will just take time.
L’Shana Tovah tikatevu.