Reuben Mitrani's Journal
Written Nov 5, 2012 11:06pm by donna orbachReuben was both excited to vote and nervous for this election. It was to be his first presidential election and he cared very deeply about the outcome. He was vocal, passionate, committed and respectful. Although not always the most organized of young men, he made sure he had his absentee ballot in order before he went off to Switzerland.
I hope that a small part of his legacy will be for all of you to exercise your right to vote . Even if you're voting against Reuben's choice, do vote. It's one of the things that I can tell you for certain that Reuben would have wanted you to do.
Written Nov 4, 2012 10:15pm by donna orbachI watched one son shrug a backpack on to one shoulder and wheel his suitcase through security. I stood watching as he joked with the security guard and hoisted his bags on to the belt. I saw his shoes come off and his computer go in the bin . He walked jauntily and securely through , an impish grin on his fine face . Off on an adventure. Nervous with the anticipation of acclimating to the new.
I stood , angling for a view of him retrieving his belongings ; putting his shoes back on his no longer flat feet . He waved . "I love you, " he mouthed . Urging me with his eyes to leave . Willing me to turn around and walk toward the airport exit. But I couldn't. He had to walk away first. And then I moved forward straining for one last glimpse of his back as he confidently made for his gate. Too quickly I could see him no longer. Gone.
And now another son. Another airport departure. Sixteen . Not too old for his mom to accompany him to the gate. I hold on until he gets down the jetway and then I am flooded with the other memory.
The plane pulls away from the gate . My forehead against the cold glass.
I don't know how I can keep letting go knowing what I now know.
Written Oct 26, 2012 11:48pm by donna orbachI sit at your grave.Rocking and crying and pleading.The ground has shifted.There are cracks in the mounds that cover your casket.The edges draw away.It is not a tidy mound.Neither even nor level.There are clumps of dirt strewn about.No one wanted to bury you, yet everyone did.I think of your beautiful body. That shell of your soul.I wonder what state of decay you are in and know that if I googled itI could find out.Just like those fetuses developingIn the otherworldly photographs of organ and tissue development,I'm sure there are equally otherworldly pictures of the progression of decay.You are four and a half weeks dead.I would grieve you even if no one else ever loved you.Without the thousand people at your funeral.I would grieve. I do grieve.I want to curl up and sleep on your grave.