Sweet Sorrow

 
We traveled all day and part of the night to get here. The beautiful matriarch of Mr. Rosenberg’s family was making a fast and graceful exit and we were coming to say goodbye.

We held her hand to let her know we were near. We spoke to her gently and she responded with a whisper. “I’ll call you next week, “ she said, joking.

We saw other family and held them close. We thought about the woman who would soon be leaving us.

Always turned out in carefully chosen outfits and matching jewelry, she knows what’s best for everyone. She often shares her views in the form of hand-written letters that rhyme. She is always right. She plays the violin and is a studied card sharp. She knows her way around a dirty joke. She makes brisket and strudel like no one else and though she tried to teach us her recipes no one can quite replicate them.

She loves the shore.

She loves us.

Her absence will leave a deep cavern in all of our lives.

We stayed for just one day.

We will be going home soon and so will she.