Only The Good Die Young

Note—this entry will not be sent to Nany until I know you’ve updated her.


Even though I work in the field where I see a lot of sickness, accidents, deaths I still don’t get why young people die. It makes no sense to me at all.

Tal, my cousin’s husband was killed in a motor vehicle accident yesterday. He is such a sweet and genuinely nice guy and perfect for my cousin. This makes zero sense. Their little baby girl, Bar,—whom I haven’t seen or met yet, will never know her very awesome dad. The loss is so complex and deep. What was the beginning of a wonderful life with an amazing future was just destroyed in a split second, with no reason at all.

Pain is something so sharp and so horrible. I understand pain. I really do.

After mom’s funeral I was very upset at the world, but found a quick outlet at my extended family. We were sitting around my grandparent’s dinner table and I couldn’t stand it that the world just continued to go on. They (extended family) were laughing and acting normal, while my world crumbled into a thousand pieces. No, it doesn’t matter that mom was sick for a long time—I wasn’t willing to have her die, it wasn’t an option, and definitely not something I allowed myself to accept. I was SO angry at them for having a normal life while mine wasn’t. I found it impossible to sit with them and was irritated with the lot of them.

Hindsight is 20/20. I know (and I knew then too) they weren’t happy that mom died. They were just eating dinner and doing things that were normal, because… yes, life does go on. I get it now. I was just too angry then. Also— it wasn’t that I wanted them to have un-normal life… I just wanted my life to be normal. I wanted mom back.

In any case, my aunt Rena was my target of pure anger. She tried to comfort me and I just couldn’t stand it that she could go on and have a normal life while we just lost our normal. The contrast was too much…I couldn’t stand it that they were happy while I couldn’t be happy anymore. I told her that she didn’t understand—(the pain, the anger, the loss). She is an intelligent person and was wise enough to leave the room before I worked myself up to a full explosion. I was nasty, I really was, but couldn’t help it. As she left she said that I would be surprised—meaning that she understood.

Well. The thing is, I am the one who is right, not Rena. People can relate, but they can’t understand. No one can understand the pain of loosing a specific person with a specific relationship to you. My dad who lost my mom can relate to my cousin, but he can’t understand that unique loss because… well, there is only one mom and there is only one Tal. The secretes shared by Paz and Tal are theirs. Loosing him, his kisses, their plans together… only she can fully experience that horrible loss. Others will experience that loss from different angles (his parents lost a son—unique relationship, years of love, hopes for future) Do you see what I mean?

(I am not trying to be philosophical; I am just trying to explain this to myself).

We—Omer, Dad and myself, we all can definitely relate to their pain. We can’t understand the exact loss but can definitely 100% relate to the pain, which is hers and ours and everyone’s. My pain of loosing my mom is just as sharp, but the loss is mine. My relationship with mom is unique and special and cannot be reproduced and so the loss is just as special and unique. Same goes for Dad and Omer’s loss. Same goes for Paz’ loss. Ilana and Effi’s loss. Bar’s loss. Rena and Pini’s loss.

I can’t explain this better, and really it took me a long time to figure this out.

I usually don’t write specific things about my family (especially the—anger at specific individuals), but I know that my grandmother will look at this sometime in the future—I want her to know that she was right (!) life does goes on. We don’t have a choice. I am continuing and so is Omer and Dad. Paz will continue because she doesn’t have a choice. But I also want grandma to know (and I know she knows) that pain is sharp and horrible and the devastation we all feel is just too much that you feel like you are dying yourself. Savta, there isn’t anything that you could have done to make me not angry at you… because I wasn’t really angry at you. I was angry at the situation. I was angry that mom isn’t here. I needed a place to direct my anger at, and you (and Rena) happened to be these individuals. I am thankful you were there to be with us and help us in your way. Without you we would have lost 20lbs instead of just 10… and all of the visitors would have been hungry…. And we would have been sitting in dirt and stench. I am thankful you are here to be with Paz and Bar.

But mostly, I am thankful you are here to remind us that we have to go on. Even if I hated you for it.

And now, as I am crying on the loss of my own mom. I am crying for Paz and Bar, and for the loss of Tal. I am crying for all who had lost. And all who will.

And the thing is… if we are lucky enough to live long enough, we will experience our own losses. We will have our own share of pain. We will be able to relate to other people’s pain. But, if we are lucky enough to live long enough, we will experience love, happiness, hugs, kisses, everything that is wonderful and worth living for.

Tal lived long enough to enjoy the birth of his daughter. To enjoy wonderful time with Paz. But he did not need to die. He has so much more he needed to live for. I can’t fathom this. “Only the Good Die Young” sucks.

The last thing is that happiness and sadness mix together.
Bar was born 9 days or so after mom died—their happiest day came when we were thick in the horror of our loss...

And that’s life.