I remember each year anew why I love the spring. Maybe it’s the flowering blossoms on the trees, or perhaps it’s the green shoots coming out of the ground. Here in Baltimore, this season takes its time to unfurl. It’s a wonderful feast for the eyes as the Master Conductor wakes up His creations, each in turn, from the long and cold winter slumber.
Spring has always been my favorite
season, and flowers were something I enjoyed planting in the homes where I’ve lived.
Since moving to a condominium, I’ve brought spring into my home with the tulips
and daffodils, which grace my Shabbos table. The cold and icy winter we had
this year has helped me to appreciate this season more than ever, and I’m
grateful now for each blade of grass as far as the eye can see.
Gratitude has found its way into my
worldview in other ways as well. This past Taanis Esther was a day like none I
had ever experienced before, since it coincided with the events in Eretz Yisrael.
My davening had more meaning, and for the first time, I felt as though I got a
tiny glimpse of what Yidden in the days of Mordechai must have experienced.
Gratitude indeed.
My memories of springtime from long
ago are filled with the hustle and bustle from Purim to Pesach. My young children
would get caught up in all the excitement, and, thankfully, I had a wonderful rav,
who explained to me that Pesach cleaning did not mean spring cleaning. This
year was the first time in quite a while that I made Pesach, and it felt good
to bring back the good old days once again.
Now, Yom Tov has come and gone, and
as the weather gets warmer, it’s been nice taking walks outside. That fragrant
smell of the earth along with the freshly cut grass is aromatic and inviting,
yet today, as I walked along, my thoughts turned cloudy like a cold and rainy
day. A recent conversation with my friend came to the forefront of my mind. She
spoke of a pain in her heart regarding the relationships with some of her
children whom she nurtured and loved and gave endlessly to, as only a mother can
do.
My friend examined her deeds of the
past and present and couldn’t find where she had failed. My memories of her
were of a wonderfully kind and giving mother, and I could understand her pain
as I’ve often wondered about the same things with some of my own children.
Parents who were confident and knew how to navigate the twists and turns and the
ups and downs when their children were young are the same parents who sometimes
look bewildered and find themselves unsure about what their adult children are
thinking. We wonder what kind of connection they are seeking. Are they just too
busy to pick up the phone to chat other than on erev Shabbos, we ask
ourselves? How come Shabbos invitations are not quite as often as we would like?
And sometimes, the dark and scary question is, do these children want to have a
deep relationship with us at all? It’s hard to go from a mother who once-upon-a-time
took care of all and sundry, who had her finger on the pulse of everything
related to her children, to feeling somewhat like a distant relative.
I can relate to my friend, and it
hurts. I sometimes feel insecure, and it’s an uncomfortable feeling.
Truthfully, I don’t know if my children have any of these negative thoughts at
all. Maybe it’s my own imagination. And as we all know, the yetzer hara
has a field day when we start feeling down.
The invention of Waze has been a
lifesaver for someone like me who has no sense of direction. Wouldn’t it be
nice to have such a device to navigate life as we meander through it? It would be
so much easier to have a how-to manual in this stage of a “seasoned citizen.” I
sometimes feel like an insecure adolescent who is unsure of myself, wondering
if I’m the only one who feels as I do. I recently got braces, which really makes
me feel like a teenager. But, looking at the bright side, at least I don’t have
acne to boot.
I pick up the ringing telephone to
hear one my delicious grandchildren, who says, “Hi, Bubby,” and my face breaks
out into a smile. What other expression is there for me to have? I love and
adore this bas mitzva girl along with the rest of my grandchildren, and it’s
wonderful how close I am to them all. But at the end of the day, a mother pines
for those same connections with each of her own children. She yearns for a
close relationship with them so when one of them texts her something warm and
loving, it’s a confidence booster that reinforces the feeling that she has not
been forgotten. A broken heart is mended in an instant, and tears of joy form
in her eyes. A feeling of contentment blankets her in an embrace, and she soars
to the heavens with a heart bursting with love and infinite gratitude to
Hashem.
