The binding power of separation

A literal postmortem and long goodbye

“For Man is a tree of the field…”

~Deuteronomy 20:19

What do Creationism and evolutionary biology have in common? The abiding principle that humanity springs forth from a common point of origin.

The single, primordial root we share lies buried beneath the fertile soil of antiquity. It emerges as a solitary trunk into the light of our collective consciousness, reaching heavenward as it divides into many branches, myriad twigs, and uncountable leaves. Individually and collectively, we start as one, then diverge in all directions.

The point is this: programmed into our essential nature is that, paradoxically, only through distance and diversity can we arrive at unity, connection, and intimacy.

We know it’s not easy. Relationships are complicated, challenging, messy, and unpredictable. But when we get them right, they are the ultimate source of fulfillment and satisfaction.

Perhaps the most complex and paradoxical of all relationships is that of parents and children. We can’t help but see our children as extensions of ourselves. We struggle to create an environment in which they will flourish. And, against all our better instincts, we must leave them free to become who they will choose to become.

When they’re little, we know them better than they know themselves, only to find ourselves increasingly mystified by them as they grow. We strive to provide them with support, even as they rebel against their need for us to support them. We pray that they will exceed us in their accomplishments, then try not to resent them for doing precisely that.

And finally, if we live long enough, the roles reverse as we need them to care for us.

My mother passed away this week at the age of 96. She was admired by virtually everyone who knew her, adored by her caretakers, beloved by her grandchildren. Through some peculiar fermentation of her spirit, she got better with age, blossoming in the final decades of her long life. We, her family, convinced ourselves she would be with us forever.

For all that, as her only son, I always felt an inexplicable and unbridgeable distance, even as she came to see me through increasingly rose-colored glasses. It was as if my adolescent desperation for independence from half a century ago stubbornly remained an impenetrable barrier.

Mom was blessed to retain her faculties, although her body served her less well in her final years. She lived for our visits, which were several times a week yet never quite enough. She was more than ready to leave this world and be reunited with her husband, whom she lost 11 years earlier to the week.

I’ve found it hard to mourn, despite traveling 15,000 miles to lay her in her eternal resting place. Just the opposite: I felt the warm glow of joyful comfort as I placed her beside my father, surrounded by pine trees atop the rocky Judean hills of Israel. Throughout 54 years of marriage, they were hardly ever separated; how could I not celebrate their reunion after so long a separation?

They started off as different as two people could be. Dad was cerebral and self-confident, yet distant and often cold. Mom was emotional and insecure, yet unselfconscious. Through their differences, they made each other better, completing one another through a process as mysterious as life itself.

The greatest curse of our generation may be our inability or unwillingness to feel connection with people different from ourselves. Politically, ethnically, generationally, and ideologically, we segregate ourselves among our own, thereby forfeiting the intellectual and emotional rewards of bonding across the very distances we allow to keep us apart.

What is the root of all mankind that empowers us to become one with the infinite if not the divine spark that makes us unique among all Creation? But that spark will be kindled only when we embrace the differences that make each of us distinctive so that, collectively, we can all become one.

So, of course, I mourn the passing of my mother. But more than that, I mourn for opportunities lost, the opportunities to learn more about myself through her, to be a better son, a better husband, father, teacher, and community member. I mourn for having not fully appreciated the opportunity she gave me to fulfill the Fifth Commandment.

But mostly, I celebrate. I celebrate a life that enriched the lives of others. I celebrate the continued opportunity to reflect on how to bring more richness to my own relationships, with my family, my neighbors, and all those who cross my path as I carry on in the journey that will eventually bring all of us, day by day, to the same final destination.

I made this video (at my wife’s prompting) for Mom’s 90^th birthday. Enjoy!