Two years
The Frazzled Housewife

Two years

This column might not be for everyone. So much has happened to us, the Jewish people, in the last two years that this column might seem trivial. It definitely isn’t going to be political. It isn’t going to address how Jewish lives have been trivialized. How we have felt alone in this great big world. How we, this generation that we are a part of, not only have survived 9/11, but now are surviving the horrific ramifications of October 7 and what happened to Jewish men, women, children and the elderly. In our lifetime? Never. Americans kidnapped? Never.

In any event, with all this going on, the following column is not about that. Because even though life after October 7 has been a series of questions that all start with “Why?” or “How?” each of us still has our own little world, where good things and bad things continue to happen. The sun still rises, we go about our lives, and that is how things work.

For me, two years ago was the very last time I would see my dad’s kind face. The first man I danced with. The first man to compliment me. I remember thinking how nice it was that he had just gotten a haircut the week before, and he looked very presentable. Yes, this is still a humor column, and yes, my dad would be proud of me even if this recollection was a tad creepy.

Loss is loss, no matter how it happens, the end is still the same. My dad had been hanging on for reasons that we will never know. At Son #1’s wedding he was still almost him, but he was already in a wheelchair. At Son #2’s wedding he wasn’t really there anymore, but he seemed to know where he was. If I think about what he really knew, if he really knew, my heart breaks just a little bit more.

Is it selfish if I want to write about my dad again, with everything that is going on? Probably, but, hey, I am just that kind of girl, and I loved my dad more than anything. Which could be why my mom has never been too thrilled with me. But that is how it was. He was much better at not making me realize who his favorite was. He always made me feel important and seen.

Feeling seen by someone is huge. It makes you who you are. As a parent, that is probably one of the most important things you can do. Especially in a world that is currently ruled by smart phones.

When I was feeling badly about myself or didn’t do well in school, he let me know that it was going to be OK. Did he believe that? Did he go back to my mom and say, “Where oh where did we go wrong?” Maybe, but he never let me know that.

And now, it is two years since losing the most important person in my life. I try to keep him in alive in pictures. I have his old metro card, and when Strudel goes through my wallet and she finds it, she says, “Dat’s Pa.” Of course when she sees my Lubavitch Tefillat Haderech card, she says, “Dat’s da rebbe.” She knows her wise men, that one.

I just miss him, and it his yahrzeit, so I feel I get this pass once a year. And I am taking it and using it. Unfortunately, when I look at pictures of him I think about where he is now, and not in the “world to come” where he is now. You can really google too much.

In any event, it’s two years, whether I like it or not. I go with not, but that is life. You are born, you live, and you die. But if you take the “you live” part and you do something with it, like my dad did, you made a difference. You left a legacy. You left a good name. Then that is a life well lived.

Daddy, I miss you more and differently every day. I hope you are where you want to be, and I hope when I talk to you, you can hear me, because otherwise I just look like a crazy person.

Banji Ganchrow of Teaneck hopes the Rangers win this week because that will make Husband #1 happy. (Sorry dad, I still have to live with him!)

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