Ten Years

Tonight was my father's Yartzheit, the tenth anniversary of his death, according to the Jewish calendar. It is tradition to say the Mourner's prayers and light a candle for the deceased person. We went to services and read the prayer; I was honored that my daughter stood by my side to help me with the Hebrew words I mispronounced. We have a candle burning, with some of his favorite items: cheese, junk mail, black pepper and toothpicks. A favorite rabbi said that the candle light wakes up the dead person from their eternal sleep, and lets them know someone is thinking of them -- that is extremely comforting.
It strikes me that the hardest fact to grasp about the ten years since he died is that time passes so quickly and easily, without notice if you are not careful. I have some wonderful memories and traits I learned from him and I know his passing affected so many of the people in my family deeply. It is particularly poignant on Valentine's Day. Right before he died, the employees in his company had a Valentine's party for him -- to thank him, wish him well and, ultimately, to say goodbye to a man that had been a very fair employer. I went to the party, and then walked him home (in a wheelchair, at that point). He wept the whole way home, knowing the end was very near.
My mother lost one of the two special people on the planet that loved her with their hearts and souls. The other person was her sister, who, believe it or not, died just two weeks later. I weep now for her losses, and mine, too.