Yesterday was my daughter Meira’s 10th birthday. I was pregnant with her when I got the news that they found my Father’s body. I needed to get special permission to fly to Israel to bury him since I was due only a few weeks later. We named her Meira Menucha. Menucha means “rest” in Hebrew. My Father’s body was finally laid to rest and we hoped he was finally at peace.  It is now a decade later, and that little baby born at such a stressful time in my life is now ten. Yet still, we do not have complete closure even ten years later. At least not with the city who is partly responsible for my Father’s death.
Yesterday we took Meira out for a fancy dinner to celebrate. I snapped a picture of her smiling with her Daddy.That moment in time brought me back in time to when I turned ten. My 10th birthday was worlds apart from my daughters. I had just lost my father the month before. There was no party that year. No celebration. And I don’t think I really understood why. Like my children, I always had the best parties. I remember the feeling of disappointed, annoyance and sadness that my life suddenly changed so drastically from one moment to the next. And so seeing my daughters beaming face brings me joy for her and longing for me, for what I could have had. I pray that my children never ever experience loss and pain and that they appreciate the fortunate life they were blessed with and know that nothing is guaranteed so they should enjoy each moment and never take anything for granted.