The things I miss

Oh, the things I miss.

It hurts to think about them, so, why would I want to write about them?

I miss walking down Emek Refaim on Shabbat, in Jerusalem, and feeling beautiful. Dressed in my Shabbat skirts, adorned with my jewelry, a bit more aware of my femininity in the slightly high-healed sandals that were perfect for strolling. Strolling or walking through the streets of Jerusalem, on my way to temple, to let my voice glide, roll and somersault with and into the hundred other voices that came to praise and thank God for all that was glorious in their lives.

Towards my last few years in Israel I had slowly developed a taste for jewelry that was made out of silver and gold and gem-stones. Being a Drama Therapist I could afford sterling silver and gold-filled necklaces. But I could only afford to marvel at the beauty of gem-stems. Recognizing beauty was not expensive, it was just an art. There was joy in spotting a beautiful necklace and then obsessing about it for weeks and then finally purchasing it in honor of the holidays or in honor of my birthday. Small delicate stones strung together, things that glistened or sparkled like the stars in the desert sky. Opals that shined like the moon on my sun-brown skin. There was always a reason to celebrate something because life was generous. I often carried a sense of gratitude within me.

It feels like a different world. Must I return now to this one? It feels like a different me. She. She. How I miss her. That beautiful one that seemed to always be smiling at the world. That beautiful one that seemed so often to be overwhelmed with love and compassion. That beautiful one. The one that wore the skirts that are hanging in my closet here in America. The one that adorned her ankle with an anklet made of tiny light blue opal beads. You know that one? You know. It is laying here on my childhood desk in the room I grew up in. It is here. I put it out to remind me of her. Even if it hurts, I don't want to forget her.

"She is gone. I have lost her forever. She will never come back. " I cried hysterically, shattered and crumbling under the realization that the life that I had lived and known would never be mine to return to. Shattered with the awareness that  the body I inhabit will never feel the same as the body that "she" inhabited. "She is gone."   My mother and father sat beside me as I mourned the infinitely painful loss of everything that I had loved and wished my life to be.

If each tear that I shed over these past two years had crystallized into a gem-stone I would have strung for all of you necklaces that would remind you of the stars and of the moon and of your femininity. I would have given them to you so that you never forget. Never forget who you are while you grieve the incredible losses and while the shards of glass scrape your insides into longings for death. You will wear the necklace. I am making it for you. I swear, I am working on it now. You will wear it in order to remember who you are. I won't let you forget. Woman.