We live in a world that marks anniversaries by dates on the calendar. But our bodies don’t care about dates and times.
Our bodies know seasons, moments, and experience. Our bodies remember through routines and rituals.
Tonight begins the holiday of Yom Kippur, the holiest day in the Jewish year. It’s a day of fasting, prayer, and atonement — generally not a day associated with festivities or happy memories.
For me, the day is integrally connected with my grandmother.
I spent Yom Kippur with my grandparents every year for over 20 years. After my grandpa died, my grandma and I continued the tradition. Even when she stopped going to services, we would still meet for pre-fast and break-fast meals.
It was our tradition.
Last year, a few days before Rosh Hashana, my grandma suffered a stroke. She died two days before Yom Kippur.
Her funeral was on the day leading into Yom Kippur eve.
By the time I returned from the burial at the cemetery, I had only a brief window before it was time for the pre-fast meal. I never even had a chance to change my clothes.
I went to Yom Kippur services in the same dress I wore to deliver her eulogy and shovel the dirt on top of her coffin.
On the Hebrew calendar, today is the exact anniversary of her burial. It will always fall out that way. On the Gregorian calendar, the anniversary date of her death and burial aren’t until next week.
But the date is irrelevant to my memory.
For me, the anniversary of her death is tied to Yom Kippur.
It’s more than one specific day.
We had a “ritual” of sorts that we would go through every year.
In the week between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, we’d have the “menu conversation” to discuss what we would eat for pre-fast and break-fast.
My grandma was famous for her “steel trap” of a memory. Our menu was the same each year, yet each year she would pretend that she needed me to remind her what we would eat.
It was like a little game we played — a part of our ritual.
As I mark the first anniversary of her passing, I grieve not only for her absence, but for the absence of our rituals together. The shared experience. The lead up to the holiday.
As I prepared for the holiday, I wanted to call her, to discuss the menu and the plan, to ask the mundane questions about how she doctors her herring.
The memory of what we shared for so many years feels strongest now not because of the date on the calendar, but because of the moment in time.
Memory is driven by ritual, rather than the calendar.
Love it? Hate it? What do you think? Don't hold back...