Life is What Happens . . .

This was a chaotic summer. I am not reflecting on the political campaign, which is to be sure, chaotic and cacophonous. I’m not talking about Major League Baseball where I’ve watched my beloved Boston Red Sox tumble in and out of the lead in the American League’s busy and tight Eastern division. And I am not referring to world events.  For our family, this was a chaotic summer as my father-in-law, Irving Kizner, who has been a fixture in my life for over thirty years suffered, at first a pre-stroke, followed by a full-blown stroke. After six weeks of medical care, rehabilitation, and finally hospice care, he breathed his last and our family gathered to honor a beloved father, father-in-law, uncle and grandfather. Interruptions to plans and routine were de rigueur this summer.

One intention I’d set this summer, to start and regularly update this new blog, fell off the radar for more weeks than I’d hoped. But there were a number of things I’d set as intentions for my summer that went by the wayside.  This reality brought to mind a lyric from a John Lennon song, which appeared on the last album released before his death, Beautiful Boy.  The song, which I have always loved, was written for Lennon’s only son with wife Yoko Ono, Sean. In it, Lennon, who had an amazing gift with lyrics wrote, “Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans.” I have often repeated those words when my plans have not worked out quite according to my intentions.  I’m certain I am not alone.

Indeed, there ae many things that happen along the way in our lives, wherein we do find our carefully considered plans are not playing out according to the script we’ve devised.  Life, and external realities take over and we busily make course corrections. It’s a part of all of our family lives. We experience in our work, and truthfully, in virtually every realm in which we live our lives.

As the members of our family and I spend these days, some three weeks after Irv’s death, trying to return to routine and normal, I find that the six weeks of Irv’s illness, hospitalization, and ultimately his path towards death have made me more reflective. The death of a close family member, or friend, a loved one, more than just about anything other disruption can, and should, give us pause.  Indeed, facing the finitude that is ultimately the reality of our human existence is important.

Sure, I'd planned on writing more about my visit in Berlin where I was learning about the courageous and sacred work of IsraAid (a trip that was also cut short by this summer’s reality.)  And I will get back to that promised “part 2.”  Indeed, the interruption and the reality of this summer may have played a useful role in pushing me to reflect even more deeply and in ways I might not have, if I’d simply plowed ahead and written on my initial schedule.

As Jews, we are in the month of Elul, which is our annual time of spiritual reflection and examination of our lives as we prepare for our Yamim Noraim, our High Holy Days of Rosh Hashanah (the Jewish New Year) and Yom Kippur (our Day of Atonement) along with the other festivals which round out our fall roster of holy days and festivals.  This is already a season of introspection.  Perhaps this summer thrust me into an early reflective mode, with Irv’s illness and ultimately his death.

It certainly has made me aware in a renewed sense of the precious gift of live and loved ones.  It has forced me, much as the coming Holy Days do each year, to reflect and intentionally set course corrections for my life in the year ahead.

Routine is settling.  I’m back to planning for the Holy Days.  And even writing these words feels good as a return to my intention to solidify a writing practice.

As for the promised part 2 about my visit in Berlin, soon!