Standing Shiva

My in-laws, Rabbi Gershon and Elana Grayman, lost their daughter on the 14^th of Shevat (1/24/24). She was 21. May the neshama of Shifra Gittel bas Gershon Berel have an aliyah.

This article is about shiva – based on my recent experience as a family member of an aveil (mourner); it’s a topic not often spoken about. I must preface my thoughts by stating that I have zero intention of insensitivity toward those faced with the intense emotional, physical, and mental challenges that come with shiva. Please forgive me if I come across as callous in any way. This is just me voicing my thoughts in an effort to process them.

I remember the week of my sheva brachos being very draining – and that was for a joyous occasion! Shiva is a whole other level. And being aveil-adjacent – someone whose loved one is grieving – is a strange place to be. We are grieving, too, yet the almost-mourner category does not have set rules or regulations. We take a background role when the deceased is not our immediate relative (mother, father, sister, brother, son, daughter, or spouse). We can listen to music, shower when needed (or just because we want to) using warm water, and we can go to work… not that we want to. Not that we feel up to any of that, but it is permissible. Going about the day as normal feels wrong, somehow. We are not grieving in the same way as those sitting shiva, and we’re not supposed to. Externally, there has been no major change in our day-to-day lives. The changes we’re experiencing are internal. I had the luxury of leaving the shiva house whenever it became too daunting, too overwhelming, too draining, too much. The mourners had to stay.

The pain is multifaceted. Witnessing the hurt of those you care about hurts you, yet this anguish is shared from a distance. The adjacent mourner fades into the background. But you feel it strongly. Catching sight of your shoes the morning after, still caked with mud from the gravesite, still so fresh and raw. Your sweater, scented with the perfumes of relatives and family friends, brings you back to yesterday’s burial. And you are hurt anew. In those moments, you can’t go to the mourner for comfort. When your young child cries at night, wanting to be snuggled to sleep by the mourner, how do you explain? He is at the shiva house well past bedtime and gone early in the morning the following day.

I cannot recall a week that felt longer. So endless. The spiraling thoughts. How to best comfort the mourners? Am I doing enough? Am I being useful? Where is the book on how to be the spouse of a mourner? The book on mourning isn’t one you read until you have to. So, thank G-d, many of the ins and outs of the shiva laws were new to both my spouse and me.

I try to stick to the children’s routine as much as possible during this time of upheaval and turmoil. But then I drive past Shifra’s old school, across from my children’s school, and I feel an ache in my chest. I realize that I am taking a parking spot in front of my in-laws’ house that used to block Shifra’s bus from coming and going. I spot her food on the kitchen counter, her toothbrush still in its holder. Signs of Shifra are everywhere, simultaneously comforting and agony inducing. Shifra loved purple and horses. I think of her when I spot this color or this majestic animal.

I have always loved pouring through the family photo albums and seeing Shifra over the years. Now, seeing the pictures and videos extended family send brings a smile to my face – a[E1]  reminder of her contagious smile, shining joy, and the wonderful memories we have with her and of her. I’m feeling so sad and empty that Shifra is really gone. I couldn’t bring myself to even walk past her room the first few days of shiva until I had to chase one of my toddlers in there. Her bed has never looked so empty. The room absent of her happy and pure presence. The first Shifra-less Shabbos was strange. There would be fleeting moments that I would forget and look for her around the corner, waiting for her to join us.

The mental and emotional struggles were something I anticipated this week. What I didn’t expect were the physical demands. I am grateful to my siblings-in-law for joining me in this supportive role. We supported each other, too, tending not only to the mourners’ needs but also to the needs of our children and (somehow) ourselves. There were a lot of balls in the air and for the first time, I felt that I had to put some down – leaving my own house in disarray to tend to the floors, fridge, and countertops at the shiva house, working side-by-side with my fellow adjacent mourners. I put up the boundary that I must be home each night before my typical bedtime. If I am not in bed by 9 p.m., I’m wrecked. So I’ve been disciplined with that. However, my head and my heart were at the shiva house and tossing and turning commenced. As a mother, I do my best to avoid depending on a “babysitter screen,” but this week I’ve had to incorporate that into my daily routine because there wasn’t another adult available to send the toddlers to while I got myself ready for work (shout-out to single parents with this as their reality!!!).

Losing a loved one, whether related by blood, through marriage, or by choice, like a life-long friendship, is challenging no matter what. Losing people is not new to me, unfortunately; I am no stranger to grief. I saw my parents sit shiva: my father for his mother and for his sister, my mother for her brother. Those weren’t easy experiences. But this death has been a new experience for me. But being the spouse hits you differently. It’s so go, go, go. There’s no time for the non-halachik mourners to work through their own perspective on this loss. We’re hurting so much for the mourners and trying to be caregivers as best we can. I’ve missed my spouse this week in a way that I never have before. They are there, but out of reach.

After the funeral, I asked my spouse, “What do you need from me this week?” The response: “Just focus on the children.” This will come across as selfish, but during that interaction I thought about driving the children to and from school, while making sure they are up, dressed, and fed, going to work, running errands, and visiting the shiva house in between… who is focusing on me? The start of burnout. Thank G-d, it’s only seven days.

Now that shiva has ended, so has the daily distraction of playing the part of sole caregiver. The heaviness is hitting me hard. Perhaps that is the source of this rambling. I finally have silence and relative calm to start processing. Starting from that awful moment, when I saw the text on the family chat just as I pulled up to work: “Shifra stopped breathing!! Everyone daven!”

I hope that Shifra’s special neshama is at peace now. Thank you to those who came from near and far to pay a shiva call. Thank you for the texts and phone calls, for sending food. It all brought comfort to mourners and adjacent mourners alike, fueling mind, body, and soul.

If you managed to read this in its entirety, you have experienced what my brain looks like after several late, late nights and too early mornings in a row as I work my way through very heavy feelings. May we have only simchos and not have the need for shiva. Please G-d, we need Mashiach so badly to end all this pain and suffering.