cellio | goodbyes are hard

The sound of a shovel-full of dirt hitting the top of a casket is raw, loud, disconcerting. I wasn't prepared for that.

I met Elaine when she started coming to my synagogue's Shabbat morning minyan something like 15 years ago. She was curious, perpetually cheerful, and perceptive. She cared about everyone around her and making sure people could participate in our community without barriers, long before a car accident and a resulting brain injury placed barriers before her. Her beautiful neshama (soul) shed light on us all.

She met her husband Noah and, to hear both of them tell it, it was an instant match. They both radiated joy at their wedding twelve years ago, and every time I saw them together. We played board games with them from time to time, and had many Shabbat meals and some Pesach seders together, and were all good friends.

Elaine died suddenly last week. She was 41. This is profoundly unfair. We've all lost a good friend and Noah is of course distraught. I hope that I and all his other friends can provide some measure of support, knowing nothing can repair the wound of losing his other half.

We gathered to remember her and say goodbye this morning. I took my turn with the shovel. And the sound of the dirt felt very final, even though her memory will live on in all of us and truly be a blessing.