For You

I’m giving you this

Please take it

I’m giving you this

Please don’t break it

I’m giving you this

Please take care of it

I’m giving you this

Please don’t be unfair with it

I’m giving you this, my heart

Please don’t part with it

Fall

Pretext: I put this up for my mother, she loves this poem and I wanted to post it for her.

I look outside and I see Fall.

Fall is a beginning, for me.

Fall is the start to being smart.

But Fall’s heart is ended by the cold

mistress Winter.

Winter whose icy blanket shall melt into a

new thing or Spring.

Spring is the new thing.

But Spring isn’t a bummer because after

 Spring is Summer.

Summer, the mistress of warmth.

Summer, whose warm days grow cooler and

turn to Fall.

Fall , the best season of all.

Size

                       They sat in the dressing room waiting for her. The girl was in another dressing room, her self-consciousness did not allow her to undress in front of them. She came out in a blue dress that was scrunched, had no straps and and two sparkly strands of diamonds down her sides. They did not approve.

“That dress is too tight,” Carol said. Carol was always the first one to speak up and was not one to disguise what she was thinking. “You need the next size up.”

The girl’s smiling face turned into a frown, as if her elegant carriage had turned back into a pumpkin. “It’s my size though. This is the size I usually wear,” she said with a quivering voice. She started to tear up.

“You can’t go by size. Everything is different,” Carol said.

“Yeah.” The word wiggled its way out of the sobbing girl’s mouth.

“What size do you think this shirt is?”

“I don’t know.”

“Look in the back.”

The girl went to Carol’s shirt and saw that the tag had a tiny X next to a tiny L, “Oh.”

“It’s called a slim fit. It gives me the narrow cut I need on my torso.”

“Okay.”

“See? Why don’t you try on that black dress?”

“I’m going in order. I’ll get to the black dress soon.” She went back to her own dressing room and looked at the next dress. It was a gray dress with a stiff material. There was a large V cut and a silver sequent belt. She zipped the dress up and it fit, then she happily walked to the next room. Carol smiled.

“You look lovely.”

“I don’t like the way it looks on your breasts,” chimed in the girl’s mother, who had three new selections in her hand.

“I see what you mean,” the girl said with a sad tone. “I’ll go change.”

“Honey before you go, what about these?” Her mother held up the three dresses and the girl shot them down one by one.

“The one with the lace is too old lady for me, the purple one is too short and I just hate the green one. Can I change now?” Her mother nodded. The girl ran back into the room. She felt defeated. She looked in the mirror and started to pick out her flaws. She first leaned forward and noticed that her chin was breaking out, then she noticed that she needed an eyebrow wax. Then she stood to her side, she saw how heavy she was. She gripped the folds of her sides as she tried to suck in her stomach. “That was such a waste,” she whispered to herself. “I did all that and then I still look like this.” She began to sob, tears streamed down her face. “Why did I spend all that money on something that didn’t work. No, I didn’t work. I need to work harder.” She collected herself and put on the next dress. It was cream, tight and had gems on the chest. She took a good look in the mirror, she loved it. This is the dress, she thought to herself. She walked into the dressing room and waited for their approval.

“Oh honey!” Carol exclaimed as if all of Lord and Taylor had to hear.

“This is better but it’s not great,” her mother said with a disapproving tone. “I think you’d need a sweater over that.”

“I’d hate this with a sweater.”

“Honey, just try it,” Carol persuaded.

                The girl grudgingly put on the sweater. It was a bust length, shiny silver sweater that did not close. The girl liked it much more than she had suspected. “It’s not bad.”

“I like it more, but I still don’t think that it works on your chest. You can’t show cleavage in temple.”

“Honey try on the black one. It’s the one we’ve been waiting for.”

“I told you, I’m going in order. I only have a few left.” She pranced back to her dressing room and returned a few minutes later in a floor length gray gown with a single shoulder strap.

“I hate it.”

“Honey, put on the black one.”

The girl said nothing and went back to the dressing room. She returned in a knee length bright blue dress with slim spaghetti straps and gems under the bust. “I look like I’m thirteen.”

“This reminds me too much of all the dresses you wore to the bar mitzvahs in seventh grade.”

“Honey, I know I keep asking, but try on the black dress. I just want to see how it looks.”

The girl went back to her room and looked through the large pile of dresses to find the black one. She found it, floor length with diamond straps that crossed in the back revealing a large section for the girl’s upper back torso. She walked into the other dressing room and exclaimed, “What do you think?”

“It’s too matronly. I don’t like the floor length on you.”

“Honey, I think it’s nice but I think there are better ones in there. Go back in and try again.”

The girl sighed and walked back into the dressing room and looked through the pile one more time and one dress caught her eye. It was a short, silvery tunic, covered in sequins. She slipped the dress over her head and adjusted it so that the top bloused over the pencil-fit skirt. She waltzed back to the other dressing room with pride. She knew she looked good.

“Finally, the black one!”

“This is the black one? I thought the other dress was the black one.”

“No, honey, this is the dress we’ve been waiting for and it’s perfect. You know why? Because your mother can’t wear it. You’re at a special time in your life, at this age you can wear that sort of stuff and look amazing. Your mother would look silly wearing that.”

“I like it, but you need to take off the black belt.” Her mother stood up and undid the black string around her waist.

“What kind of jewelry would I wear with this?”

“Big earrings, some rings and no necklace.”

“Hon, I think you need the next size down,” Carol turned to the girl’s mother and said, “Go see if they have a size ten petite.” The mother stood up and left the room to look in the vast fields of the dress department. The girl sat in her place. “Honey, I think that this is the perfect dress. Your mother can’t wear it, this is a college age dress.”

“I know.”

“And you have to play with sizes, you may even be an eight petite.”

The mother returned with the size down. The dressing room was getting crowded and the girl decided that she was more embarrassed about taking up two rooms than getting undressed in front of her mother and grandmother. She gathered her clothing in her arms and walked out of the room “You can use this room,” she said to a woman waiting with a small child. She walked back to the room where her mother was waiting with the size down. She slipped the dress over her head and looked in the mirror. It fit like a glove.

“Honey, this is the dress. Go get dressed and I’ll take this to the register, my treat.”

The girl went back to her dressing room to get dressed. Before she removed the sequin tunic she took one last look in the mirror and decided that she had never found a better fit than that sequin tunic.

In the Garden

            As I sat in the rehab garden and looked about the place seemed to fade. It made so much more sense out there. It was warm, like summer, and we liked that, we were just kids. We would goof around all the time, pretending that we would never face the cold bloody Hell of battle. Jimmy, my bunkmate, and I would play cards and exchange stories about the girls we had waiting for us when we got home. On the days that weren’t so bad we went into town and grabbed us a few drinks. Jimmy always got the same thing, beer, tall glass, chilled. He loved that beer, the colder the better, he said. It seemed to balance out the horrible Vietnamese heat, and remind him of his home in Vermont.

            “Man, when I get out of here. I’m really gonna raise some Hell, and those deserters can kiss my ass. Damn Commies,” Jimmy told me, after a few too many.

“I think you’ve had enough,” I said, pulling the glass out from under his chin.

“I’ll tell you when I’ve had enough.” He looked at me with a  stern face for all of two seconds, and before I knew it we were cracking up.

“Let’s get back.” We walked back from the bar that night in a loud drunken stupor, pretending we were back home again. Just as we were about to reach base, we heard fire. Suddenly, our drunken haze was over and we took action. We ran to out commander, who told us to get down and shoot like our lives depended on it. Jimmy and I lay side by side as we shot ‘em down. One, two, so many dead bodies, and then out of nowhere one of ‘em came at me. I saw his face, and it looked like mine. Never before had I been so scared to kill.

His face took me back to my old home in Georgia. It took me back to the mornings when my sister and I would fight over who got the bathroom. I felt warm and safe, but then I realized that I wasn’t in Georgia, I was in a foreign country, where they spoke a different language and had completely different values.

After a short moment of freezing my surroundings came back and I knew that it was him or me, I chose him. I shot him twice, once in the leg and once in the chest. He came down like a bag of bricks. Then I heard a cry, a terrible cry so close, I didn’t want to believe it, I looked to my side, it was Jimmy.

“Jim! Jim! Jimmy!”

“Th-th-th-ey g-g-g-g-got m-m-me. T-take th-this back to Ver-m-mont,” he handed me a diamond ring, “g-g-give it t-t-too S-Susan Macdo-do-donald, t-tell her I l-l-love h-her,” and with that Jimmy took one last gasp and died. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I took the ring and stashed it in my pocket, nice and secure, then I took his weaponry and moved into the field. Out there a man dies and he is forgotten instantly. It made sense but at the same time it showed us all the barbarian in us all that only comes out on the field.

In an instant the black night fades to green. The hot, humid Vietnamese air changed to the familiar warmth of a Georgia day. The gun in my hand dissolved and Jimmy’s ring was no longer in my breast pocket. A nurse stood at my side, her hand on my shoulder. My ears, that had been filled with the sounds of war were now being greeted by a soft voice.

“Your mother is here to see you,” said the nurse. My mother stepped forward, pale, thin, clearly distressed.

“You look terrible,” my mother said, “You look like you haven’t slept. They tell me that you stopped eating, you’ve complained of nightmares,  that you have spells of being there and you spend all of your time here, by the lilies.”

“Good to see you too ma.”

“I’m serious, your father and I sent you here to be well. This is killing me, your father and Molly. How do you think she feels about all this?”

“Mom, I’m having a tough time and your not being supportive isn’t helping me.”

“My son, the baby killer.” At that moment I blacked out. I was brought back to the day I came home. All the people in the air port ere screaming.

“Murderer! You’re all invaders! Animals! Baby killers!” Then one man stepped forward and launched a tomato at my chest. The crowd behind him cheered and chanted.

“This is the thanks we get.” Whispered Hank who was clearly trying to contain his anger.

“Relax Hank. Don’t let ‘em get too ya. Attention is how they win.”

“We’re just kids, man.  We’ve seen things these guys couldn’t imagine,”

“Relax, relax. We’ll be home soon.” The scene around me faded and I was back in the garden. My mother was hovering over me, crying.

“What happened ma?”

“You were running, screaming like a barbarian and then you passed out.”

“I need help.”

“You need to be locked away.” She turned her back to me and stormed off.

Mistaken: A Break Up

When her day had finally calmed down she texted him:

Would it have made a difference if I hadn’t told you? What if I had taken care of it myself and then told you?

She anxiously awaited his reply. Nervously, she paced her room, cleaned it and surfed the internet until she felt her phone buzz, it was a reply.

No and no.

Shira slumped at her desk and looked at the bright screen of her laptop. She opened his facebook page one last time, just to be sure she knew. Chris Masters, his blonde hair, deep blue eyes and sweet smile drew her in but only for a second. She closed the page, grabbed the Danish bakery bag that sat at her feet, got in her car and drove slowly down the road until she reached the white house with the wrap around porch. She slowly walked up the grim walkway, which seemed dimly lit on that hot July day, she knocked on the door and he answered.

“What are you doing here?” Chris scowled and crossed his arms.

“These are yours. I don’t want them anymore.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Why are you doing this?”

“You know that these are your boxers and this is your shirt,” she pulled them out of the bag and shoved the tags in his face exclaiming, “they have your name on them! And look this is a stack of all the cards you gave me and they have your name too.” She reached around her neck and undid her heart shaped necklace. “You gave me this for our one year anniversary.”

“Babe, I never gave you any of that stuff. This is so like you; writing cards to yourself, writing my name in things that aren’t mi-”

“How dare you accuse me of that! I didn’t do anything.”

“Then who did? Was it Ezra? I see you guys talking in school all the time.”

“Honestly? You’re bringing this up? I told you we’re just friends.” Her eyes welled up, to think just a few weeks before everything was okay. She thought to herself, if only we hadn’t been so hasty, if only we had waited. Everything would have been normal.

“You’re just as friendly with him as you are with me and Stewart, Johnny, Brandon, Charlie and Max.”

“I don’t understand why you care that I’m friends with guys. I told you that they mean nothing to me.”

“What about Rob?”

“I told you that I don’t talk to him anymore.”

“You’ve always compared me to him and I have never quite measured up. You were never going to be with Rob and you know that. You’re lucky you even got with me.”

“I thought I was lucky. There was a point in time where I thought I was lucky and now I know that I was mistaken.”

“I never felt a thing for you. Shira, you know what your problem is? You think that you’re pretty and nice and that people like you, hell you even believed that I loved you but you are so blind. You’re ugly, mean, no one likes you and I, your boyfriend of 18 months, never loved you.”

“Why would you say that to me? You’re clearly lying.”

“Just go away. Honestly, leave, go back to your perfect little school, your perfect little family, your perfect little temple and live out your perfect little life without me in it.”

“Fine. I’m gone.” She dropped the bag, turned and ran back to her car tears streaming down her cheeks. She grabbed the handle of the door and for a second considered giving him a longing look, but then she remembered that she had one thing left to lose in this relationship, her pride. She got into her car and drove off, speeding with rage.

Rocking Back and Forth

                Things in life are both happy and sad. It’s all about perspective. I try to look at all events and find the good that will come out of them. In some respects I am a Pollyanna, but I don’t see that as being a negative or even a naïve feature. I think my “Pollyannaness” stems from my wanting to make crazy situations seem more bearable, and even normal.

 In that chaotic Summer of 1968 I had been devastated by the death of my personal hero, Robert Kennedy, whom I had interned and then worked with for a number of years. When he was shot I was shocked and stricken with grief.  So, I started to look at the positives of the time Mr. Kennedy had had on this Earth.

                When I arrived at Mitch’s house that evening I did not come in my usual empty-handed, shorts and tee-shirt fashion. I arrived in a white skirt, a black blouse and sandals. My arms full of homemade muffins, cookies, flowers and a teddy bear with a note. I had taped the note to the hand of the bear so it would look as though he was presenting the letter to Mitch, and not me. As I approached the door I arranged the many items in my arms so that they would not fall and carefully opened the door. When I stepped inside they were all gathered around the kitchen table, laughing and eating. Mitch immediately stood up and walked to me. He helped remove the items from my arms before giving me a hug and kiss, after which he looked at the items that he had removed. The baked goods delighted him and the bear with the note made him smile. Luckily, his mother, Bonnie loved the flowers and immediately stuck them in a vase. He then introduced me to the new family members sitting at the table, his grandma, Granny, and his uncle, George.

                That night, when the sun had set, we lit the two candles so that the red-orange flames glistened against the brown polished wood of the dining room table. The starlight rushed in from the large window and flowed over us. They chanted familiar words in an unfamiliar tune as I hummed along, rocking back and forth on my heels and adjusting my skirt.

The group then turned their attention to the silvery glow of the wine fountain at the end of the table. Mitch picked up the largest cup and filled it to the brim with red-purple liquid. Once the glass was full he poured it into the fountain. I watched in delight as the spouts spurted the liquid into smaller cups. Everyone, including myself took a cup. Then they chanted more familiar words in an even more unfamiliar tune and I rocked on my heels while humming along. When the tune was over we all drank down the sweet and sour red-purple liquid, chilling our throats on the way down. We then turned to Bonnie who carried out a large golden braid of bread. One last time they chanted, I hummed and we ate.

I took my place next to Mitch and across from Nicole, Mitch’s sister. Bonnie served a variety of meat cooked by her husband Maxwell. Maxwell, being the “man of the house” sat at the head seat and passed around plates of meat, corn and vegetables. I politely placed two chicken drumsticks on my plate beside a piece of corn. I tried to eloquently cut the meat off the bone and they all stared. I explained that my grandparents, who had had a big hand in raising me, were British and very strict about table manners. I told them that by the age of four I knew how to “properly” use a fork and knife. Granny understood and told me that fingers were perfectly acceptable utensils at this house. I smiled and picked up the slimy, fatty chicken leg with my fingers and slowly lifted it to my mouth. As I took a bite the meat feel clear off the bone. The meal was filled with conversation, jokes and a bitter sweetness.

As the meal finished, everyone sat while Granny and Bonnie cleared the table, a practice that would never be tolerated in my home. I made the mistake of trying to clear my own place but was told to relax and wait for them to finish clearing. Suddenly, the tantalizing idea of having a grandmother stereotype overwhelmed me with joy.

When Bonnie and Granny had finished clearing dinner they brought out tea, pie and watermelon. I placed a thick, juicy piece of the pink-red watermelon and put it on my plate beside my steaming cup of chai tea. The aroma of the chai slowly drifted into my nose. I picked up the big piece of watermelon and took a large bite. I immediately tasted onion. Evidently Mitch had made the mistake of cutting the watermelon on the cutting board that Bonnie had used for the onions we had eaten with the main course. When we had finished eating Granny left and took her son George, along with some leftovers, with her.

Nicole, Mitch and I went into the kitchen to unload and reload the dishwasher. It took us an hour to decipher where Bonnie wanted everything to go. When we were done, we went upstairs to Mitch’s bedroom and began what Nicole called the “roll and pack.” The roll and pack was designed to save Mitch as much space in his suitcase as he needed. Maxwell, Nicole, Mitch and I gathered in Mitch’s room to pull out the enormous stacks of clothing we needed to roll and pack. We rolled and packed shirts, shorts, pants, boxers and pajamas. All the clothing fit neatly into Mitch’s oversized duffle. However, Mitch felt that it was essential that he bring playing cards, a Frisbee, some books and, of course, the teddy bear I had given him earlier in the evening. When the duffels were zipped Maxwell and Nicole left the room.

Mitch and I sat on his bed holding hands and looking into each other’s eyes. We did not have to say anything to each other; we both knew there would be no more perfect moment than this. After an hour of our laying together Mitch proposed an idea and I agreed. We loaded his duffel into my car along with a blanket and went to the lake where we had our first kiss a few months before. We lay down on the blanket holding hands and looking at the large night sky. We traced constellations with our fingers and dissolved into each other’s arms. That moment seemed magical and everlasting.

“You know, I could just stay this way…forever?” Mitch said, while adjusting his arm around my waist.

“Me too, honey,” I said, tears streaming down my face.

            It was almost dawn, which meant that it was time for us to go. We drove back to Mitch’s house and snuck up to his room, pretending we had been sleeping there all night. We lay down on the bed snuggling under the warm covers and after a few hours we were woken up by the slimy tongue of Mitch’s dog Rascal.

We then proceeded down to the breakfast table for our last meal together; things were not like they were last night. There was no conversation, no laughing and no jokes. Nicole, Maxwell, Mitch, Bonnie and I sat and ate in complete silence, other than the occasional noise or two from Rascal, swiftly followed by “Rascal, NO!” The soft clanking of silverware on plates was the only thing to break the silence.

After cleaning up the table we knew it was time to go. We got in my car and left. On the first leg of the two-hour drive, Mitch and I were unable to speak. The air in the car felt denser than any place I had ever been in my life. Then Mitch broke the silence.

“I don’t want you to worry about me,” he said.

“Of course I’ll worry. I just won’t write that to you,” I replied. “Honey, you seem distant, are you alright?”

“I guess I’m just nervous, but who isn’t? I just don’t know what to expect once I’m there. I could just be boxing and playing cards all day, but it could be much different.”

“Please write me and tell me what it’s like. I want to feel as if I am there with you.”

“Babe, I want you to know something before I go. Something to make you think about me until I get back.”

“What is it, Mitch?”

“When I come home, twelve months from now, I want to marry you.”

After that I didn’t know what to say. Stunned silent, I kept focus on the road. I knew we were only a little while away. “I’m sorry, you want to what?”

“I want to marry you.”

And as if by magic, as he finished his last syllable, we arrived at the army base. It was a desolate area drowned by army jeeps, soldier huts and new recruits. I looked at Mitch for a while and he looked at me.

“I want to marry you too,” was all I could say. We kissed one last time and he got of the car and waved goodbye as he headed into the unknown jungles of Vietnam, only with a duffle of old clothes to comfort him.

*                      *                      *

We had been writing to each other for almost eleven months and had shared in each other’s daily lives. I felt as though I was there with him and as the eleventh month drew closer I knew that there would only be one month left until I saw him again. But one day the letter did not come. Then a week had gone by, no word from Mitch. At the end of the week I went to Mitch’s house to ask Bonnie  if she had gotten a letter from him. She told me she hadn’t and we exchanged looks of horror and worry.

 Just then we heard a knock on the door, and it was a sight we had been dreading for a week. It was a man from the army in uniform carrying a folded flag, dog tags and a diamond ring. As the soldier saluted and walked off we collapsed to the floor and cried together for Mitch, we cried for the time we lost and we cried to mourn the family that would never be.

Things in life are both happy and sad. I try to find the positive in everyday craziness to make life seem more bearable and more normal. I was sad that I had lost Mitch, but I was glad that I had him when I did.

My Uncle, My Brother

This post is a tribute to my uncle who passed recently.

My Uncle, My Brother

             I laid on the couch, my feet heavy on the ottoman. I was holding a bowl of frozen yogurt in one hand and the remote control in the other. My body seemed to sink into the softness of the sofa, after the long week.

            “Adam! Come on! Are we gonna watch or not?” It was Sunday night, and we were about to take part in our Sunday night tradition. No, not football, but cartoons. We would watch two hour marathons of cartoons together every Sunday, it seemed to be something that collected us at the end of the week.

“I’m coming!” He ran into the room iPad in hand, and plopped on the couch beside me. Adam was a cuddler, there was no doubt about that, but I didn’t mind. I loved to cuddle.

“You think it’ll be a good episode tonight?”

“Yeah, it looked like it’d be funny.” We sat on then couch anxiously awaiting our cartoons. Then, the football game went into overtime. “When will this stupid thing end? I wanna watch cartoons. This is terrible.”

“Tieerr-able,” I teased. Adam gave he a good punch in the arm for that, which was returned with a, “What the hell was that for? I was just kidding.”

“I told you I don’t like that. You guys always make fun of me.”

“Adam, I only do it because I love you and because it’s cute, the way you say it.”

“Rachel, I’m not a baby anymore.”

“You’ll always be my baby brother.” Just then the game ended, and the screen cut to commercials. “Finally.” After one commercial the show came on, but there was something familiar about the way the show had started.

“We’ve seen this one before! Really, we waited all this time to watch a repeat?” Adam then sank in defeat.

“I have an idea. I’ll tell mom to make popcorn and we can watch a movie, okay?”

“Fine, but I get to pick it.”

“Sure. What do you want to watch,” I asked, surfing through the “on demand” menu. “They have The Hangover.”

“I’ve seen it too many times.”

“They have The Help.”

“I am NOT watching that.”

“They have Barbie’s Christmas.”

“Oh yeah let’s watch that one,” Adam said in an overly sarcastic voice.

After what seemed like hours of this back and forth I finally said, “how about we watch Toy Story 3?”

“I’d watch that.”

“Good! You start the movie and I’ll get the popcorn.” I dashed into the other room where my mom was sitting at the counter sipping tea and chatting on the phone. Her conversation sounded rather serious, so I decided to leave her alone and walked back into the living room and turned off the lights. I always liked watching movies in the dark. “Mom’s busy. I’ll ask again when she’s off the phone.” I plopped next to Adam who immediately put his head on my shoulder. “You tired buddy?”

“Not really. I just wanted to snuggle.” In that moment I felt so happy with where I was and who I was with. Then my mother came in, turned on the lights and paused the movie. “What did you do that for?” Adam asked, sitting up.

“We should talk,” my mother started, I could tell something was wrong. “Your uncle Howie died.”

I jumped up from my seat and exclaimed “WHAT” in shock.

“It’s okay. The funeral will be this week. I want us to all go down as a family and support your grandma Carol.”

“When’s it gonna be, the funeral,” I asked.

“Wednesday or Thursday, I’ll let you know when I know.”

.I wasn’t happy but I wasn’t particularly devastated. It was the first day back from winter break and I was excited to see my friends but during every conversation a voice in the back of my head rang he’s dead, he’s dead, uncle Howie is dead. All day I thought of Thanksgiving at my uncle Howie’s house, playing in his elevator, getting rides on his motor scooter and the gentle giant that was my uncle Howie.

The funeral would be Thursday. I looked forward to that Thursday like a five year old waiting for a dentist- anxious, nervous and all around upset.

Wednesday was uneventful. I picked my outfit for the funeral, did my schoolwork and prepared for the next day.

The last time I had been to a funeral it was my cousin’s grandfather on the other side of the family. While I was sad for their loss, it wasn’t something that had hit me at the time. I still believe that it was because I was only 13 years old, and didn’t have much of a relationship with him anyway. Uncle Howie was different. He was a man whom I had known well my whole life. When he died I felt a few regrets. I regretted that I hadn’t said goodbye, I regretted that as much as I loved him, I had never really known him and as silly as it sounded, even to myself, I regretted that he had died without knowing where I would go to college.

Thursday came and I got into my funeral outfit. My mother was holding herself together surprisingly well for someone who had just lost their uncle, someone who had been a constant force in her life. On the way to the funeral we found a shopping mall. To be honest, I’m not sure why we stopped. I think my mother had to go to be bathroom, but it went from a bathroom trip to a shopping trip. My mother and I went into a hippie shop which we both found amusing. After the small shop my mother, Adam and I filed into Old Navy, where of course my mother and I started shopping, which ended with our purchasing fuzzy socks, shirts and chocolate straws. We drove another fifteen minutes until we reached the temple.

I walked into the temple and right away I saw my cousin Jess and my aunt Marjory who gave us warm hugs. All around the temple were cousins, aunts, uncles, and strangers. The only people I didn’t see were my grandma Carol and my Zaydee.

Since we were closely related to my uncle we sat in the second row. I was seated two seats into the aisle, sandwiched between my cousin Jess and Adam, facing the casket. I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around, it was my cousin Jessica (yes, another cousin Jessica; I would normally try to distinguish between the two by last name but they were both Jessica Levey so it was Jess and Jessica). I hadn’t seen Jessica since she was my age and I was eight.

“Hi Rachel. I haven’t see n you in so long,” she said in her thick accent.

“I know, it’s been too long, “ I said.

Then she asked the dreaded question, the question that made me realize that my life was at a tipping point. It brought up  thick anxiety in my throat. I didn’t want to answer, but she asked sweetly. “Do you know where you are going to college yet?”

I stumbled before finding a way to answer her without choking on my words. “No, I’ve gotten into a few places, but I don’t know where I’m going yet.”

“Okay,” she said, and turned to her boyfriend. Then I turned back towards the casket. In the extremely crowded room, I felt more alone than I ever had in my life. I felt as though I was in a tunnel with just me and the casket. It was an odd feeling to see the box that held my uncle. He was so alive, and the box seemed so empty.

As I listened to the eulogies, I got a sense of the side of my uncle I had never known. My whole life he had been wheelchair bound, so to hear about the times he could walk seemed almost unreal to me. I never knew about his years at the candy company, or his baseball career, or his best friend, affectionately known as “little How.”

When the service was done we went to cemetery. On the way we got separated from the procession, but we stayed calm and made it to the cemetery on time for the service. We said a few prayers and listened to the official. I saw a row of my family sitting in front of my uncle’s casket, as it laid in the grave.

In Jewish tradition it’s considered a good deed to shovel dirt on the grave. I walked up to the grave and went down the line. I gave my grandparents, my aunt and my cousins hugs. Then I went to the pile of dirt, scooped a large mound and tossed it onto the grave. When I heard the dirt thud on the casket, I knew it was over.

On the way home I reflected on what had just happened. I could not imagine how my grandmother felt. Carol and Howie were so close, the same way Adam and I were. Carol took care of Howie, just like I took care of Adam. How would I be able to handle eventual Adam’s death?

Then my mind turned to a picture I had seen of my uncle Howie attending my grandma’s college graduation and wondered how he felt when she left the house. How will Adam feel when I leave? How will I be able to leave him? I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want it to happen. Adam seemed to be the only thing I wasn’t ready to leave behind. So I looked at the dark highway, ear buds blasting, ignoring my inevitable future.