Kaddish Yatom (Mourner’s Kaddish), A Reading

Kaddish Yatom (Mourner’s Kaddish)

B Y S TACEY Z ISOOK R OBINSON z”l

Today surprised me-the sun and skies of blue shading almost translucent, almost too bright, studded with clouds that wandered in stately lines invisible to the naked eye and the grieving heart. It beckoned, this day of surprises and shaded blueness. I thought it would be warm; It’s certainly bright enough, clear enough, and from my window, there are still leaves of green that cling to their branches, so it could be a different day entirely. It could be a day in spring, where the wind still carries a quiet note of cold. and you waited. wrapped in stillness. while I walked through gardens just at the bursting point, and blossoms spilled their scent of life, all green and yellow and white, making the air heavy and light at the same time. I collected the dew and a spray of fl owers for your table. And you laughed, and pressed a kiss upon my lips. It could be that day, but this day has surprised me, its colors and leaves framed so neatly by my window, but there are things carried in this day, invisible to the naked eye and a grieving heart. There are no wildfl owers to collect along the way, and the grass is stiff with frost. My step is much slower, a stumbling gait, hesitating and halting. Slowly, oh so slowly with love and tender grace I lay a spray of fl owers upon your grave, a surprising note of color, just visible to my grieving heart.

We were young. We have died. Remember us. We have done what we could, but until it is fi nished it is not done. We have given our lives, but until it is fi nished no one can know what our lives gave. Our deaths are not ours; they are yours; they will mean what you make them. Whether our lives and our deaths were for peace and a new hope or for nothing we cannot say; it is you who must say this. We leave you our deaths. Give them meaning. We were young. We have died. Remember us.

A RCHIBALD M ACLEISH