14 YEARS, POP, 14 YEARS

      14 years since that Chanukah when you left us. I can remember that first night of Chanukah when we lit the candle, sang the berachot (blessings) and then Maoz Tzur. Your eyes were closed as you had not opened them for a while, but you sat there and listened, carefully. The best moment came when you slowly lifted your hand and waved it gently to the tune of the berachot and the song. Always and forever you loved the rituals, the holidays, the songs that went with them.
     You passed that love of Judaism, its responsibilities that it lays upon its adherents, to do good, to give charity in the best and quietest way possible, to seek justice, to be honest with everyone under G-d's skies, for we are all the creatures of Him.
    But most of all, Pop, was how I valued and loved the conversations we had, in person and on the phone. You listened, I listened, and your advice, your slightly wicked glee when you told me how you had made your point in conversation with others, I just loved it all. Your love of learning, your attending classes until you could not any longer, well, I, too, love to learn, to review the older material and learn the new.
     But you left us, Pop. You left us. You left us with only your memories. You left us to help a broken woman left behind, who only wished to join you, who cried why you had left her alone. Shiva ran from 6 in the morning till 11 at nite, so crowded was it, so demanding the people who wished to  share their piece of you with us.The phone calls from those who belatedly learned of your demise were both heartbreaking and inspiring. But still, you left us, all of us, bereft by the loss.
      Until today, 14 years later, I still have moments when I go to that phone to call you, seeking advice, to hear your thoughts about something - but then I stop, my hand in mid air, knowing that you are not there at the other end of that phone. It is still hard for me,for all of us, to accept that you are not there anymore. When they just tore down our house, we all studied the pictures that Roni took, still seeing the signs on your file cabinets and closets, imagined you sitting there in your office, at your desk, with either Mommy sitting there with you, or a client getting help, advice, or no client, but a friend who simply wished to talk with you. But you left us, Pop, you left us, and now the last physical tie to you in this world, the last place you lived, the place where you died, was now gone,and we all mourned, not just for the house and our memories, but for you, and for Mommy, for our immeasurable losses.
     But did you really leave us, Pop? Are you truly gone? I think not, for all of us, the entire extended family, one or another, is always going to the cemetery, saying a prayer, leaving a note about an important event, asking advice, or simply to just stand there and think about what was.
     And so help me, G-d, I talk with you. I talk with you and Mommy every Friday night when I light the candles. I remember the hush that descended on the house at that moment and I treasure that. I feel close to you at that moment. I see you in my dreams at time, just when I need you. And you are there right in front of me, right there in the kids, the children, the grandchildren,  the great grandildren and even the double greats. I love to hear the kids speak of their memories about you. Even the next generation all have their memories of you and still love you and try to carry on with the example you set, with the values you embodied.
     So yes, Pop, you left us. We still miss you, cannot fill that hole you left in our hearts, in our lives. But we carry on and with us go the memories, the love, the hope for the future, the pride of Judaism, accceptance of its responsibilities, and the knowledge that while you are not there, you still are in many ways. I still puff up with pride when someone says, "She is truly her father's daughter."
     Still and all, though, Pop, you left us in that important physical sense and even now, 14 years later, the hurt, the ache, the love, the missing, is still there, not diminished a bit. So here sits the old lady that I am now, missing you like the little girl I once was, the little girl who never wanted to disappoint her father. The little girl who just knew that a hug from her daddy would fix it all. I still feel that way, Pop. But you left us, Pop, you left us.