In my imagination, I always thought that the biggest day of my daughter’s life would be her wedding day. Today as I help her prepare for Jarrett’s funeral, instead I am giving advice on what to wear to a funeral. How would she know – she’s never really been to one.

I can’t help but think about how this biggest day concept doesn’t really distinguish between a Happy biggest day and a Heartbroken biggest day. They are both biggest days. From now on, I will be clear which one I mean!

Black, conservative, but make sure you wear something that Jarrett will love. Whatever that is – you just be who you are and wear it with pride. Long black silky dress with a beautiful silk shirt that Jarrett bought for her. That is what she will wear. Then we get to the sorting of the outfits for each night of shiva. Shiva is where friends and family gather at the home of the deceased for anywhere from 3-7 nights. It’s a way to let the family k now that they are surrounded with love. That they don’t need to prepare any food – everyone else takes care of that. It’s a wonderful way to sit around telling stories and sharing memories. There’s also a prayer service each night at sundown. So, Kelsey is prepared to sit shiva in Jarrett’s house. To find solace in his bedroom, among his things. To cuddle with his t-shirts and to inhale his scent. That familiar, cozy feeling of the known as she heads down the scary path of the unknown.

The unknown path that no longer holds any hope, because up until 3 days ago, they held hope together. That one day they would be ready to settle down and that one day they would begin the rest of their life together. Not to be. This is not the future that is in Kelsey’s future. His breathe is no longer and the sparkle in his laughing eyes is no longer. All that is today is a cloud of devastating sadness. Heaving sobs that can’at be contolled. Cries that start in any moment where a memory dashes thru her vision. And now that she is in Miami, the last place that they were together for a month, everything that she sees brings back a memory. It doesn’t get any more painful – until his casket is lowered into the ground, his life sealed away for eternity.

As we pack her wardrobe for the next 6 days, she takes shirts and tops that he used to like. She pulls out a pair of wedgy shoes and comments “I’ll take these for the wedding.” We both stop, collectively our breaths hiccup. Then we laugh with sadness at her Freudian slip. Yes – this packing and this frenzy should be for her wedding day. The intensity of the emotion is of that intensity – it’s just that it’s at the opposite end of the emotional spectrum. This is a sadness that one can only imagine; that one should never have to live through. This is a sadness that she will carry in her heart for a very long time, and only time will begin to chip away and allow cracks in the heaviness to allow for happiness and laughter to return into her life.

How do I give advice when I have never experienced this? I can’t tell her I know what she is feeling. I do not. I can’t tell her how it will get easier with time – I have only heard these words from others. All I can tell her is to not skip ahead beyond each moment in time. To be in the moment and allow the feelings of that moment to resonate and sink in. Not to think ahead to tomorrow, when she sees the family – “what will I say Mom? What if they’re mad at me? What if I don’t say the right thing?” Not to think ahead to Wednesday when she must be strong and brave at the funeral – “how will I get through it? It’s not possible, no way!” Not to think ahead to the day she leaves Miami and all those places where they were last together – “how can I ever leave? How will I find him when I come home?” In the exact moment of time, I tell her to simply focus on how OK it is in that moment.

To honor him and all the lessons she learned in their relationship. How every man she ever meets will be held to the highest of bars in terms of love, respect, passion, kindness, and laughter. How there will always be a special corner of her heart that will be with Jarrett and how every man she gets close to will need to know this.

“Will you read and edit the story that I write for the funeral service?” Words I never imagined hearing from my 23 year old daughter. Of course I will. I’ve edited your high school papers, your application letters – now I will review the letter of a lifetime. The letter she writes describing her life with Jarrett and her stories of their adventures thru Europe, in the IDF, in their place in Tel Aviv, in Miami, in DisneyWorld. I will edit her memories. I won’t be able to edit the pain, the fragility of every word, the space between the lines, the hollow darkness between each letter. I won’t be able to ease her pain in any way. No one can. I’ll help her to be sure the words are in an order that she wants, but I won’t fix anything. These will be her words – the words from the core of her soul. These require no editing. “How do I start”, she asks me. How do I answer that, I ask myself. I say to her to go to the beach that you two used to go to and to sit and let your thoughts and your memories run wild. The thoughts will come so freaking fast that you won’t be able to write fast enough to keep up. You’ll see – you’re overflowing with memories, emotions, images of those moments. Just get them all on paper and then edit it. Stream of consciousness is a very freeing thing, I tell her. “What if I can’t read it out loud?” she gasps into the phone between breaths. Bring up your BFF and prepare a signal, so that Roche knows where she has to step in. Or have someone else read it for you, I tell her. “But Mom, I should be the one reading it. It’s OUR story,” she says to me with such certainty. Yes, of course you should – but give yourself an “out”, just in case you can’t.

I honor this beautiful, soulful young woman for the journey she is commanding…for the bravery and courage that it takes to face this, the biggest day of her young life. She is collecting photos from all their friends, she is planning the collage and she is writing their verse. She’s digging deep into her core for the droplets of strength, that when strung together, frame her spirit and allow her to go on. I honor this giver, this lover, this caretaker, this daughter of mine – for her grace, her gentleness, and for her courage. I honor my daughter for facing this day with force and can-do even when she wonders what if she can’t do!

On this the biggest day of her young life, I pray for my daughter and hold her in the creases of my heart, surrounding her with flames of radiant love and showers of sorrow.

So what does this all have to do with the theme of this blog – “finding the sparkly, shimmery silver lining”? It’s that even through all of this tragedy, it’s there. And I am so proud of Kelsey, because she found it…she found a fragile thread of a silver lining, when she exclaimed “the only best part of all of this is that I get to see my best friend Roche!” She found it! She sees it! In the midst of her sadness, she has found a thread of joy to focus on. It’s a tiny part of it, but she is holding on to it and that’s the lesson. That shimmer and that sparkle is there if we look for it. And she will hold onto this little glimmer of joy for everything that it is worth.