It's interesting.
People who haven't visited grief may not be able to relate to this fully. But I still feel a need to explain it. Maybe my words will help them understand.
And maybe this can help them relate to something deeper.
The more time that passes since my younger brother's death, the more it hurts.
No, not in the intense way it hurt in the beginning, when I cried so much that I didn't know I had the capacity to contain so many tears in my body.
Not in the way my heart hurt so strongly. Not in the way I felt this ache inside of me, a physical sensation that stayed with me no matter where I went.
None of that.
What hurts so much is that the more time that passes since my brother's death, the more I think about how much he missed out on and how much could have been different if only he was still here.
I think about where he'd be in life and wonder, what kind of girl would he have married? How many kids would they have had by now? Would we still be as close as we were when we were teens? Where would he live? How much would we share? How often would we talk?
I also think about all the milestones he's missed and all the small and big parts of my life I haven't been able to share with him.
And that hurts.
A lot.
I imagine how much my life would be different with my brother in it. How much joy and laughter we'd share if he lived nearby, if we'd be able to spend time together and be in each other's company.
And that makes me reflect upon Hashem and the beis hamikdosh we mourn. While we wish for it to be rebuilt, every year that passes without it only intensifies the grief and mourning.
Another year without the beis hamikdosh? Another year without connection, closeness and clarity? Another year sitting in this galus, distant, disconnected and full of dread for the upcoming fast day?
What would life be like if we had the beis hamikdosh? How would life be different for us if we were living the ideal life and were closer and more connected to Hashem through every milestone and every challenge? Can we even imagine?
Every year that passes without my brother in it makes me miss him more and wish he were here. And it makes me wonder how my life would be so different if he was in it.
Every year that passes without the closeness that geula affords us makes me yearn for it even more deeply. I wonder what my life would look like if I was able to live with the clarity and bond that is only possible once we are out of this galus.
I yearn for more.
My heart aches for change.
My insides desire something so different.
I imagine a time when we will be able to go to the beis hamikdosh and listen to the beautiful notes of the levi'im, playing their soulful instruments and singing their touching songs and we will be transformed and elevated to a different plane. And we will connect, reflect and be moved to a different realm of existence. Music will become a meditation. Songs will heal our aching souls. Harmony will allow us to reach a state words alone could never accomplish.
What would our life be like if we had this all along?
That question hurts.
And it hurts more deeply every year.
Because we're still here.
And we long for more.
We yearn for something so much deeper than what we have now.
And the possibility that we could have had it but still live without it makes the yearning that much stronger, that much more intense.
So yes, the more time that passes since my brother's death, the more it hurts. Because I realize that another year passed without him in it and as much as I imagine my life along with him right here, it's still a dream.
And the more time that passes without the rebuilding of the beis hamikdosh, the more it hurts. Because I realize that another year has passed without the closeness and relationship I yearn so deeply for.
Hashem…we are waiting.
We are hoping.
We are dreaming.
We are praying.
We are doing the best we can.
We want to be closer to you.
Even with all the distractions.
Don't you see it?
Don't you see our desire?
How much longer will we have to wait?