LETTING HOPE IN
Rabbi Ariel Russo
I received my diagnosis while on vacation. My husband ran into the store for a quick errand with our two older children while I sat in the car with our infant. Everything stood still as I tried to process the information. With snacks in hand and smiles exuding from the kids, my husband took one look at me and knew something was wrong. The seemingly endless tears began after we tucked the kids into bed and called our loved ones. We somehow made it to the beach the next day. It was my middle daughter’ s birthday and she wanted to go kayaking. I sat on the shore with my newborn unable to hide the tears that kept flowing, mimicking the waves ahead of me with shouts of“ Ima, look at me!” My world was collapsing. The world I knew, built, and trusted was disassembling. I felt my body had failed me. I imagined my family without me and I shuddered. Yet I looked around at other people, other worlds, that seemed intact. An older couple enjoying a picnic on the beach, another group with beer and cigarettes laughing wildly, boaters coming in and out of view, all enjoying a beautiful summer day while my world was breaking. I stared at the small baby in my arms, really still an extension of my own body, attached to my chest, the place of my cancer, and wondered how my world- and their worlds- would unfold.
In the chaos and disorientation of those first few days, I couldn’ t find the glimmer of hope. In the immediacy of suddenly needing formula and bottles, cabbage leaves and antihistamines to dry up my milk, all I could see was googled statistics and grief for the world that would no longer be, consumed by the fear that my world was ending.
From the ruins of the destruction, the Book of Lamentations captures the suffering. The depths of the sorrow, in the haunting melodies of the 3rd chapter reflect the despair.
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