O Jerusalem, Jerusalem!

On this day, May 21, 2005, I buried my mother. I was in Israel when she passed away in the hospital following developing a poorly treated bed sore that got infected; the poisons overtaking my mother’s already weak body. It took me three days our time (12 hours ahead) before I could get back to South Carolina. No matter how many years pass, my heart still aches, not just that she died, but also how she died; and maybe even when; the when she died. I still struggle with all of that. It interferes with my ability to move past that part of my grief.

I know I’m not alone. I know there are others who have their own challenges to dealing with how they feel (and how long they feel) in their own moment of grief.

It’s weird how a place, a moment, a thing, a smell, even a taste, can bring back memories you thought you’d buried years ago. But then, when you see something, hear something, walk by and smell something that takes you back to that place, and all of a sudden, you’re back there, remembering where you were, what you were doing, and how you felt when you got the news. It’s frozen in time, lost in a clock with no hands.

Try as you may. That moment never dies.

O Jerusalem, Jerusalem. What bittersweet memories you hold for me now. I can never think about my trip without thinking about my loss.

“O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often would I have gathered your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing! See, your house is left to you desolate. For I tell you, you will not see me again, until you say, ‘Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.’”  Matthew 23:37-39