It’s that time of year.
I’m not religious; but I feel reflective around the holidays.
If you’re Jewish you know what I mean by the Book of Life. If you’re not Jewish here’s the deal : According to Jewish tradition, on Rosh Hashanah, God inscribes each person’s fate for the coming year into a book, called the Book of Life. The verdict is “sealed” on Yom Kippur. During the days of Awe, between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, Jews seek forgiveness for wrongs done against God and against other people.
On Yom Kippur, Jews fast; confess their sins privately and publicly; and hope for forgiveness; hope that once again they are written into the Book of Life.
I feel beyond grateful that I’ve been written in the book so many times.
My mom wasn’t so lucky.
Ironically, the older I get, the more I feel her loss. Maybe that’s because I’m more aware of my own mortaility. Even more than the loss of what she had, I feel the loss of what she didn’t have, in all those years since she stopped being written In the book of life.
Maybe that’s one reason when I started this blog, I instinctively started to post something about her on this date every year.
Because today is her birthday. And for me, remembering her here is my way of writing the name Marcella Pollack into the Book of Life, in a metaphorical way.
Thank you for helping me keeping her memory alive.
Yes, she was beautiful, but far more inside than out.