A Dancing Yahrzeit Candle

On Jan Lilien’s 3rd Yahrzeit,
A Ritual Helps Me Embrace the Future!

The soft, flickering glow of the Yahrzeit Candle paints a poignant tableau on the walls, ceiling, and floor of my kitchen, creating a serene atmosphere. For the last two years, I’ve placed this candle before a photo of my beloved wife, Jan. Tonight, I’ve encircled it with three images that capture precious moments of our sons, their wives, and our two grandchildren. Each image is a gateway to a cherished memory, stirring a deep nostalgia and a profound love that defies time constraints. Have you ever found yourself lost in a sea of photos, searching for the perfect ones? As I was doing so, I realized that I still had thousands of digital pictures of Wes waiting to be printed and framed. Keeping up with the life changes requires time and effort.

Half an hour after sunset, I took a moment to switch off all the lights and gazed at the photos and the gentle, flickering glow of the Yahrzeit Candle. In the room’s stillness, the dancing light no longer seemed like a carefully choreographed performance but more like the dots and dashes of Morse Code. It brought back memories of my attempts, as a young Scout, to decipher those same patterns into English, albeit with little success. The thought that the flickering light might be trying to convey a message beyond my understanding lingered in my mind. Like any widow, I longed for it to be a love letter from my late wife, Jan, reaching out to me from the beyond. If only such a miraculous connection were possible.

My stubborn streak kept trying to fathom meaning from the candlelight. After an hour, I was about to turn the lights on and proceed with relaxing and reading when it dawned on me that the message might be more substantive than an “I love you” from Jan. On the day before lighting the candle, I observed Cranford’s Memorial Day ceremony. A high school student recited the Gettysburg Address, a task I did myself decades ago. With its powerful words, this address always reminds me of the importance of unity and the need to carry on the legacy of those who came before us.

One powerful excerpt from the speech resonated deeply when Lincoln stated, “It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work.” This phrase underscored the importance of ensuring that “government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.” While this is undeniably important, those of us who have experienced the loss of loved ones also feel a profound sense of duty, responsibility, and unfinished business to attend to. Could it be that God is reminding me of my unfinished work? If this aligns with Lincoln’s sentiments, I must focus more on Tikun Olam, the Jewish concept of repairing the world. This commitment, made in my youth, fills me with a renewed sense of hope and purpose, guiding me through the darkest of days.

Sitting in the dark, I pondered the message God might be sending me. In preparation for the Yahrzeit, by selecting photos, I intended to pay tribute to Jan’s memory while navigating a future in which she no longer physically exists yet continues to shape our lives through the enduring impact she has made in our hearts and memories. In the initial stages of widowhood, I discovered that while tears may provide some relief for the pain in my heart, they cannot bring her back. All I can do is look ahead, strive to become the best version of myself, and ensure that our sons, their partners, grandchildren, friends, and neighbors continue to cherish her memory. If I can accomplish this as an ordinary individual, it will be a testament to the love and happiness she brought into our lives.

Standing up from the comfort of the couch, I was astonished by my bold conviction as a man who had grappled with agnosticism for most of his life, now interpreting a divine message. In the three years since Jan’s passing, I have embarked on a personal journey of faith, becoming a regular attendee of Friday night services and acknowledging God’s existence despite lacking a rational explanation. Now, two pressing questions weigh heavily on my mind. How have I managed to discover faith amidst my lingering uncertainties? Furthermore, having accepted that God has bestowed upon me the ability to hear, embrace, and walk into the future, how should I approach the remaining days and nights of my life? This introspection, born from my journey, fills me with wonder and contemplation.

Driving Home From the Farewell Dinner

A gentle spring drizzle caressed us as Jan and I left the Forsgate County Club after the Monarch Farewell Dinner. I kissed Jan and suggested she wait under the awning while I fetched the car. Stepping away, I realized the rain was warm, light, and refreshing. When I returned to the awning, Jan quickly seated herself in her Prius. “Thanks,” she said as she fastened her seat belt. Before I started the car, I took her hand and said, “Thanks for being by my side tonight!”

You did an amazing job. Many people told me it was the best speech they had ever heard.” Though uncertain about the assessment, I was relieved that the formal dinner was over. The nervousness that had plagued me since I woke up had dissipated, much like the rain that no longer necessitated the use of windshield wipers.

I learned a lot I did not know about you,” she said. I do have some questions, but for now, there is one we can talk about on the way home.”

I shrugged, and she continued, “You’ve been attending services with me for decades, but you never mentioned that you’re Jewish.”

Merging onto the NJ Turnpike northbound car lanes, I explained that I was a man of faith, and then, to lower the tension, I said, “I am also faithful.” Jan responded that she knew I had been faithful but reminded me that was not the question she asked.

Even though I wasn’t born into the Jewish faith, I’ve always been someone who questions and seeks to understand rather than blindly accept things,” I explained. Faith has constantly guided me in life, empowering me to overcome challenges, experience personal growth, and strive to positively impact the world around me.

I’m aware of that, but you never mentioned being Jewish before tonight.

I identify as Jewish because the only place I have worshiped for decades is in a synagogue.

Have you thought about converting?

We had arrived in Cranford, and I dropped her off at the door to our home. We can talk more when I return from parking the car.

The stroll back to my place was peaceful, and I took slower steps than usual. Upon reaching home, I went upstairs to the bedroom, only to find Jan undressed.

I was just about to put on my nightgown,” she smiled.

I smiled and embraced her as Jan dropped the nightgown. That night, and on every subsequent occasion, we never finished that conversation, as her diagnosis of lymphoma completely altered the course of our lives.

Three years after her passing, I wonder what Jan would think about my consistent attendance at Friday night services.

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