Burial

 Herself speaks.

It's been two weeks now since Daddy left this earth. 

My mother, my brother and his wife, my sister and her husband, and Beloved Husband and I gathered to lay him to rest. 

We buried his physical shell in a plain pine box, as was his wish, on an overcast New England day, in a snow-dusted, appropriately-named Wildwood Cemetery. The rabbi, a thoughtful, middle-aged woman, spoke kind words of his long life, his family, his accomplishments, his service to the scientific community. The Hebrew prayers, unfamiliar to my ears, were rhythmic and comforting. Because there was no minyan, we instead recited the twenty-third psalm:

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures
He leadeth me beside the still waters
He restoreth my soul
He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil, for though art with me,
Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies
Thou anointest my head with oil, my cup runneth over
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life
And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

At the conclusion of the graveside service, we each tossed handfuls of soil into his grave -- one handful from the cemetery, and one from the Holy Land -- to formally lay him to rest in the earth. 

Rest easy, Daddy. Your work is done. 

-----

We all spent another day and a half together before we once more scattered to our respective corners of the word. Life has resumed more or less as 'normal' -- everyone around me is going about their usual activities. I am trying to do so as well, with my kriah ribbon pinned on to my shirt. This mourning practice is foreign to me, but I cling to it for comfort, as sign of respect for my father's Jewish roots and as an outward, visible symbol of the invisible Void that I now sense in the world. 

I don't know what to do with myself. I don't know what I am feeling. I yearn, but I do not know for what. 

I need to go out into nature, alone, and listen. Perhaps I will be able to hear Daddy there. It will sound just like every voicemail he ever left for me, which always began: 

Hi Missy, it's Daddy....