The blossoms of grief
Three weeks ago, just as the spring blossoms were beginning to open and the bursts of pink and white started to be seen, the cat died. Well, one of them, the oldest of the current crop. It is only people who have lost pets who understand the loss, the emptiness, the hole in your heart. Only they understand when there are no more scratches on the leg for attention, no more jumping into zoom meetings, or climbing under the doona at night. Only they understand the loss. For others, it is just a cat. Just a little furry creature. Only pet owners are familiar with the quirks of their personalities, how they each are different. And they understand when illness removes that, that essence of who they are so that what is there is really a shell, a reminder or taster of who they were but no longer are. So as the blossoms began to appear so he began to disappear. He arrived 15 years ago, young and strong, and grew into a loving friend. As he got older he became ever more smoochy, sleeping on my pillow and wanting hugs. Yes, cats do hug. And then it was over. And the grief is everpresent, and the blossoms are there, ever more beautiful than before.
And as I watch the blossoms and marvel at the canopy they make, I grieve too for the loss of Australia that I once knew. I grieve for the endless manifestations of world wide Jew hatred. Spain, which still behaves as if it is 1492, just this week demanded that both Israeli cyclists and chess players not display their flags. They would have liked the Israeli cycling team to have withdrawn, but it isn’t 1492 or 1942. Yet.
In France there are ongoing attacks on Jews. In Holland a disabled person was refused a taxi because they are Israeli. A leading Sydney cardiologist is peddling conspiracy theories about Mossad and ASIO. Every which way you turn Israelis and Jews are being attacked. Chris Martin from Coldplay magnanimously announced that the two girls he called up to the stage were human. Yes that’s right, human despite being Israeli. Substitute black for Jew and what do you see?
The media fall over themselves to promote libels about non-existent famine and genocide whilst ignoring the plight of the starved hostages.
They conveniently ignore the amount of aid going in and, in particular, the work of Isra-aid which facilitates the delivery of supplies and materials.
The Scottish parliament won’ t fly the Scottish flag but will fly the Palestinian. My great-grandmother who saved all the family by leaving pogrom-riddled Latvia and made her way to Glasgow would be turning in her grave.
I am grieving for a way of life that has disappeared. I wake each day and wonder what the next libel will bring. I wonder if there is a future for Jews in the west. My optimism says yes but my reality checker says no. Belgium has turned into a cesspool of Jew hate. England and France are not far behind. Canada a close third. And here? The centre of marches and rallies and weak governments that could have stamped this out on 9 October but chose not to.
Grief ebbs and wanes. Grief strikes when you aren’t looking out for it. It kicks you in the gut and leaves you breathless.
The spring blossoms should be a harbinger of better times, of a way forward. But I fear that all they are doing is camouflaging reality. Spring likes to tease us, to show her face then run and hide for a while until she is really ready to come out.
But this year I think the blossoms are a kind of tear, that instead of tears falling the blossoms fall. They are weeping because they too are grieving and they can see better than us what will happen. They know that they will blossom for a time and then their flowering will end and their branches will become barren.
