On Rosh Hashanah (9/16/18)

Dear Daddy,

When I was little and it was the High Holy Days I used to go to temple with my parents. Apples and honey, "Temple Survival Kits", changing the words to prayers (you shmoe)...all remind me of you, Dad.
I used to wish/pray/hope whatever it is that people do, that everyone I loved would make it into the book of life. Of course myself, always my parents, and sometimes even Nate.
The time between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur was always refreshing. Apologizing for mistakes, fixing things, and clearing the air. I remember one time I wasn't behaving well and Daddy "yelled" at me, I told him he can't yell at me during the High Holy Days and fixed his behavior straight away.
As I got older, I realized that there were people in the room with me that would not be "written in" to this magical book. I would feel sad for them but always hoped/prayed/wished only the elderly would be written in. Never children. Never my family.
I wanted everyone I knew to get into that book, to make the cut, to be at Rosh Hashanah services the next year.
Fast forward to now. While I may not know what it is I believe exactly, I do know that consistently Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur have always been "things" for me. Even if my way of celebrating changed, the wishes/prayers/hopes/good vibes/ ju-ju etc never did.
As grandparents passed it helped me to cope. Knowing they lived a long life, and I would give myself yearly pep-talks about this mystical book and crossing my fingers, toes, and eyes that those I loved would live another year.
Everyone knows that their parents will die one day. It's horrible when a parent of a young child dies, you don't expect that, it's not supposed to happen like that. Parents are supposed to live until they are old. I thought I'd have at LEAST 10 more years with my dad, if we're being honest. It may be a weird thing to think about, but I wanted to make the most of all those days and years.
This year the rug was pulled out from under me. My dad didn't make it into the book I grew up "knowing" and "believing" in (I know it's a metaphor, there is no book, but he still wasn't written in it).
Rosh Hashanah this year was one of the worst experiences of my life my since my Dad passed a few weeks ago. I wanted to be alone, or with family. I didn't want to think about this stupid book that wasn't good enough for my dad. I don't even want to be thinking about it now.
But something a Rabbi I know said changed my whole perspective on this magical Book of Life...Perhaps the people that get their names written in aren't being adding to a list of those that will live another year, but rather a list of those that will live a good life with their last year. Maybe it's a book full of names of people that did amazing things with their lives, truly lived, helped others, made a difference, enjoyed the little things, and are forever remembered and recorded for doing so.
We never know when our time is up. Whether you believe in Judaism, Christianity, or even Greek Mythology, it's all a up to chance. We can only hope that when our time is running out we made sure we got our names on that VIP list before we left.
While I had wished and hoped for 10 more years, I got 10 more months. And they were really good. The best. Even the one in the hospital spent knitting, and watching The Three Stooges. How loved I felt when I would walk into his room and say, "Hi Daddy!" and his eyes would open right up. But I am a mess.
So please, don't wish me a Happy New Year, because this will not be a happy one for me at all.
I miss my dad so much. There are no words. I am heart-broken in a way that I cannot explain, and only those that have experienced will know.
I miss my partner in crime. My actual other half, the one person in this world who truly understood me and could get through to me like no one else. We could do no wrong in each others eyes. Ask mom, she'll tell you. And now I feel vulnerable. And sad, and depressed, and anxious, and scared, and frustrated, and my go-to-guy is no more.
Fingers crossed, sending out good vibes and good karma, and wishing and hoping (and maybe even praying but we all know how dad feels about that) you all live your best life this year, and always. Enjoy the good things, celebrate small victories, and help others.
Daddy, I'm taking deep breaths like you always tell me. I just wish I could hear you say it.

Love, 
Alexa

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