So live.

I had Tant Diamante take me to visit Moshe's grave today. She taught me which buses to take, where to get off so I can find my way to the graveyard alone before I leave Israel. I need some time alone there.

I don't need to sit by his grave to talk to Moshe. At the same time, there is something powerful about being close to where his body lies buried, and the site is so quiet and beautiful. It feels like neutral ground, free from distractions.

Tant Diamante and I watered the plants on and around Moshe's grave as well as those around the surrounding graves, put flowers into the two marble vases on each side of Moshe's grave (I got him sunflowers; it seemed appropriate to bring "Moshe" some yellow to share something of myself with him), lit candles. By the time we were done with the maintenance work, Oncle Çelebi had gotten off work and arrived, prayer books in hand.

We pulled three plastic lawn chairs into the shade under the tree in front of the grave. Oncle Çelebi began reading his prayers under his breath, Tant Diamante sat in silence for a while until she began crying, got up to throw her tissues away, and upon returning to her seat wondered aloud at how much the tree we were sitting by had grown since they planted it six years ago. I, meanwhile, sat behind my uncle listening to his mumbled prayers which seemed to get louder in cadence at the end of distinct sections. I cried behind my sunglasses and wiped my tears away before my aunt, who had said she doesn't cry much at the grave anymore, could see them and cry even more.

I thought about the man Moshe was, a cousin in that old time sense of the word, a brother. I thought about all the qualities in him that I hope to come across again in someone, about how much I miss him, how I wished he could see the woman I have become at 32, stubbornness, opinionated Kapuya thickheadedness and all. I pictured how fun it would be to take the time to discover all those quirky similarities between us that are now mostly up to Tant Diamante and Tant Röne to reveal to me. I imagined laughing with him and giving him a hug. I tried to guess what we would talk about over drinks once again, now, no longer teenagers. I imagined myself telling him about my visit to New York in June. I wondered what insight and perspective he'd give me about the people I love. I wondered if there were signs and wonders around me right then that could give me something, anything. I quieted my mind and just sat there for a while.

And suddenly, it came to me.

Live.


The word resonated in my brain: l i v e.

You're alive. So live.




In that moment, I almost got a bird's eye view of all the thoughts and worries that have been on my mind, especially since April. I thought about relationships, friendships, numerous missives that have gotten me into my head to the point of playing mind games with my own self, to the point of giving myself shit about mistakes I have made with no sense of compassion, to the point of elevating other people's needs above my own, to the point of enduring punishing silence when I obviously love words so much.

So live.º

These words were so simple I couldn't cry anymore. I sat there with a smile of understanding and clarity on my face.

And yet it's hard to know immediately what to do with what I understand. What I know is I'm a woman of words; this is my first step of covering some distance, maybe even recovering something. I can only do my part.

Live.
Love.







I love you. Thank you.



tk





















º I would love to know if any reader of this blog has ever seen or read August Wilson's Gem of the Ocean.

Spoiler:



…the play ends with these words.