Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Something I wrote for Schmarya's contest.

My entry:

To go or not to go, that is the question. This will be my mother’s greatest performance – her opportunity to play the martyr extraordinnaire. She’ll be in rare form, “woe is me” to perfection, every little problem an insurmountable mountain. And if I show up – well, well, what a show it will be! But what kind of show?

Do I really want to go through that? Is it worth it to try and see my sister and her kids? My cousins, some of whom I used to be close to? Do I really want to look down at that dead lifeless face and wonder why he never tried to contact me on the sly? Nobody would have known. Even if it was just to yell and scream, at least he could have called me. Did he think he would do it “later” and ran out of time, not knowing he would die on the table – so much for a routine operation? Or had he made up his mind a long time ago that I was dead, cold and remote, nevermore to be seen on this side of the night?

Am I dead? Sometimes I think so. A ghost to them – a shadow that troubles the edges of their world, nothing more.

No, I don’t think I should go. There are no answers in that box. I don’t need a public spectacle in order to mourn – I can do that with my own candle and my own siddur. No tears, of course – those were shed long ago.

No, I will not go. Whether I am greeted with hate or with silence or with hypocritical congeniality will not matter, because the only one I need to hear speak or not speak is not there.

Posted by: Ahavah | August 26, 2008 at 12:04 PM

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