Struggling.

I am struggling to write about the death of my much-beloved father-in-law. There is so much to say, and I'm not ready.

In my search for the text of El Male Rachamim, though, I came across a new blog, Velveteen Rabbi, that I immediately wanted to add to my links; I've done that.

Jews take care of business quickly after a death, and the logistics and details of my father-in-law's burial are complex and taking forever. I begin to understand that the healing process of actual mourning simply can't begin until the logistics of returning the body to the earth is complete; all the more reason that I pray that when the time comes, I'm buried where I fall. If it's abroad, so be it.

I dusted off my copy of my book of Psalms, bought before the funeral of a congregational friend years ago, used again at the funeral of a close friend of my stepmother's. I wonder if it's morbid to keep a list of the funerals that this small blue book has attended.

So two weeks after our loss, I feel like we've been waiting, hovering slightly above the ground, waiting for our next intake of breath, before we can begin to move forward. I wait for the crashing impact of our loss when we finally get to take in that breath, realize what's happened, and move forward.

It is still too hard to fathom.