This year I came upon this interesting sermon for Yom Kippur titled, “Let Death Be Our Teacher.”This piece explains the way in which Yom Kippur is traditionally understood to be “a rehearsal of our death.”In it, Rabbi Dara Frimmer says:
Let’s be honest, most of us wait until a crisis is upon us to make significant changes in our lives.My father had a great life before he was diagnosed. He worked hard AND played golf every Wednesday. He loved photography, travel, and good food. He collected recipes from the New York Times and once a month our kitchen would become a gastronomy lab.And when he was diagnosed, as most of us might do, he took account of his life – a Cheshbon Ha- Nefesh – literally, an accounting of his soul. Which is exactly what we are asked to do on Yom Kippur. A Cheshbon HaNefesh invites us to take inventory: Are we wasting moments of our life or are we lifting up and celebrating what is most precious?
Let’s be honest, most of us wait until a crisis is upon us to make significant changes in our lives.
My father had a great life before he was diagnosed. He worked hard AND played golf every Wednesday. He loved photography, travel, and good food. He collected recipes from the New York Times and once a month our kitchen would become a gastronomy lab.
And when he was diagnosed, as most of us might do, he took account of his life – a Cheshbon Ha- Nefesh – literally, an accounting of his soul. Which is exactly what we are asked to do on Yom Kippur. A Cheshbon HaNefesh invites us to take inventory: Are we wasting moments of our life or are we lifting up and celebrating what is most precious?
My grandmother died on September 22, 2009 between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. A few days after her death, when I was 18, I wrote this poem in memory of her, which I just found again today:
A Tribute to My GrandmotherI first met my grandmother When I was very youngShe held me in her armsBefore I had turned oneMy family ventured to TorontoAnd she and grandpa came to CalgaryThose times were special thenAlways remembered they will beWhen I was only fourMy grandma called me nearI didn’t like her nickname for meShe used to call me ‘dear’So we agreed upon ‘Mandy’This name for only her to call meHer precocious little granddaughter And I would call her ‘Bubbie’I remember the trips to Toys ‘R’ UsWith my brother to choose toysWe could pick almost anythingAs long as it would bring us joyMy grandma loved educationAnd she always called me cleverShe knew my commitment to my educationWould surely last foreverIn her final yearsBubbie grew old and frailBut my grandpa visited herEvery day without failI learned unconditional loveThrough the witness that they gaveTo a love that knows no boundsAnd to a love that is very braveSometimes it was hard to see my grandmaLost and confused in her mindThen I’d remember thoughHow much her heart was refinedMy grandma’s life was a giftFrom the God who I do praiseThe Lord is compassionate and lovingIn all His mighty ways
A Tribute to My Grandmother
I first met my grandmother When I was very youngShe held me in her armsBefore I had turned one
My family ventured to TorontoAnd she and grandpa came to CalgaryThose times were special thenAlways remembered they will beWhen I was only fourMy grandma called me nearI didn’t like her nickname for meShe used to call me ‘dear’
So we agreed upon ‘Mandy’This name for only her to call meHer precocious little granddaughter And I would call her ‘Bubbie’
I remember the trips to Toys ‘R’ UsWith my brother to choose toysWe could pick almost anythingAs long as it would bring us joy
My grandma loved educationAnd she always called me cleverShe knew my commitment to my educationWould surely last forever
In her final yearsBubbie grew old and frailBut my grandpa visited herEvery day without fail
I learned unconditional loveThrough the witness that they gaveTo a love that knows no boundsAnd to a love that is very brave
Sometimes it was hard to see my grandmaLost and confused in her mindThen I’d remember thoughHow much her heart was refined
My grandma’s life was a giftFrom the God who I do praiseThe Lord is compassionate and lovingIn all His mighty ways
Ever since I was a child, writing has been my favourite creative outlet. Whenever someone would die or whenever I would grapple with the mystery of suffering and death, I would scribble words of poetry and reflection to contend and find meaning.
In addition to being a helpful outlet at the time, I find it interesting to look back on what I wrote in the past and to discover how sealing those memories through creative acts magnifies the memories I hold.