#BlogExodus: Learning

Earlier tonight, I was catching up with my college roommate, Terry.  Although it was a "quick" conversation compared to our last call, a 174-minute marathon, it was long enough for her to remind me of a poignant lesson that no matter how often we learn it, needs to be learned and relearned, again and again.

I was telling her about losing Mrs.Steinberg and our travels to and from the funeral two weeks ago.

Knowing me well, Terry asked if I knew anything about Warren Zevon.  Of course I didn't.

She explained that he was a singer-songwriter who was diagnosed with inoperable peritoneal mesothelioma and died less than a year later.  During his illness, he was a guest--as he had been on many occasions in the past--on Late Night with David Letterman.  In talking about his disease, and about life and death, Zevon offered this adage:  "Enjoy every sandwich."

Indeed, in our everyday comings and goings--sprinkled as they are with too much stress and too little time--we often do forget just how fragile is life.  Instead, as I've now relearned from Terry, by way of Warren Zevon, we must learn to hug our kids, tell our friends we love them, and enjoy every sandwich.

Inspired by Ima on (and off) the Bima, this post is one in a series marking the days of the Hebrew month of Nisan leading up to Passover 5773.

Aunt-Claire-and-Uncle-Jash

Back in October, Frume Sarah blogged about the death of her uncle, adding these tags to the post:  death, dying, family, grief, uncle.  And now, I am doing the same about my Uncle Jash, who died peacefully last night after several months in hospice care at home.

In my mind, Aunt-Claire-and-Uncle-Jash was always just one word.  In my life, though, Aunt Claire and Uncle Jash were two omnipresent people in whose home I celebrated my first seder, on whose block I first went trick-or-treating, and whose back patio and yard served for the gazillionth time as the setting for a family cookout back in August. 

I am especially sad for my Aunt Claire, who has lost her companion of nearly 62 years--and this just little more than seven months after the death of her sister, my mother. 

Borrowing once again from Frume Sarah, I will close this post as she closed hers:  Baruch dayan HaEmet — Blessed is the Eternal Judge.