Monday, April 9, 2012


Passover - Easter - Eostre - the rebirth of Spring.  How naturally the season lends itself to the perception of rebirth and renewal.  In contrast, during the brittle days of winter, it's difficult to perceive any movement at all, the contraction can be so tight.

During this past winter of long dark nights, something was surely happening.  As morning came, I knew the work had been arduous, but didn't know what had been done.  During the day, pangs of longing arose like mist.  A phrase uttered from my mouth, "I miss him so much," had the power to undo me.  Even now, I don't know whether to use the past or present tense.  The two fuse together.  Past is present.

Memory continues to play episodes from my lost love and marriage.  From the first encounter on a bus to the final goodbye in a cath unit, the scenes surface randomly, like beads that had been scattered when the thread uniting us broke apart. 

Most of the dreams have been as faint as gossamer.  Night after night I submerged in the deep  underworld and  when I awoke, grasping, I came up with nothing at all.  Some mornings I felt caught in a web, as if I were being pulled back under.  I dream he is here.  What joy!  I remember he is gone.  What pain!  The slow process of adjustment is underway.
I've never used a rosary, but this winter it seemed my psyche was trying to present one for me. Assembled from memories and dreams, the pieces of my life somehow seek to be reordered, strung back onto one unified thread.  I've been moving forward in a kind of prayerful trance - touching and feeling my way from one bead of memory to another.

In December during the long nights following the winter solstice, our family celebrated his 69th birthday, the first one he was not alive to celebrate.  As a tribute for the occasion, our daughter bought a gardenia tree, in memory of planting a tree with him as a young child.  I planted it in front of our home and continued to water and watch it throughout the winter.

Then spring arrived and on the very first day of Passover, the first blossom opened -  fresh and exultant.  His palpable absence at the Seder table the night before was drawn within this most fragrant and tender token of Beauty, a perfect symbol of rebirth and hope. 

There's no need for me to resort to superstition or read more into the timing than what I've already suggested.  Love doesn't die, nor does Beauty.  Both are eternally interwoven, embedded in our world and deep within each of us.  As I personally transition from winter to spring, I take note of the beautiful renewal of nature around me and the voice within me that echoes in my dreams:  "Love Forever." 


  1. You are such an amazing writer, and your words speak to my heart. You are one of the precious beads in the rosary of my life, and I am sending you love forever. Angela

    1. Angela,
      Thank you. I am honored to be on your rosary! Much love.

  2. Hi Laya
    I am truly moved by this writing and I appreciate your sharing with us. I'm curious - I would enjoy hearing your story of "your first encounter on the bus". If you would like to reflect on those moments, I imagine it would be sweet for me and for you. With love, Donna

    1. Thank you, Donna.
      Actually I DID tell the story of the first encounter in the blog post, FIRST IMPRESSIONS (see:

      All my previous posts are listed on the top right side of the page under ARCHIVES. This blog has become a kind of chronicle of what's happened in our lives & death since our move from Miami Beach.

  3. Oh, dear Laya.... As usual, you reach my very heart.

  4. Lovely, heart warming and quieting, just what I needed today.

  5. Laya,
    Your writing breaks my heart, breaks it open to the grief in the world that I usually keep at arm's length. You are an incredibly talented writer. But the loss you experienced to write those words is more than I would ever, ever wish for you or any of us to bear.
    Yet death comes with every human life. No, Love does NOT die, nor does Beauty. The beauty and love bursting forth from your story and the photograph are almost more than we can understand or bear, unless our heart chakras are open almost to bursting also, like that gorgeous gardenia. I swear I can smell its essence through your story and photograph.
    Thank you for sharing your sacred beads as you assemble them. You are a precious gift, my friend.
    Much love,

  6. Laya!
    It was so fitting to read your own profound "Shir HaShirim" love song, during the days of Pesach. As we began to count the Omer, you count your memories as beads. As we are forced to let go of rain, and get used to teach us how to do the same with loved ones. Thank you so much for this humble wisdom; please don't stop writing! This is vital spiritual oxygen that must be shared. Chag Sameach! Michael

  7. Laya,
    Your poignant, eloquent words penetrate every layer in me and shed a sweet sacred light on your beautiful story with Tom and the painful transition to this new relationship to his physical absence. I feel so much love toward each of you.