Wednesday, March 26, 2003

Sixty nine today
Last year Seder Night fell on the twenty seventh of March, the day after your birthday. So Seder Night was your birthday celebration too. You had been diagnosed just three weeks before and, without talking about it, we were all determined that this would be the best Seder Night ever. And it was.

We sang and were happy like there was no tomorrow. No, we sang and were happy because there was no tomorrow. And you sat there so fragile and delicate, like a rare flower of great beauty to be protected and adored.

Then you started to get tired. You and Dad were already preparing to go home, when Bish had a look on the Internet and told us the news about the terrible terrorist attack in the Park Hotel, the one that came to be known as the Passover Massacre, just down the road from your apartment.

This year, I won’t be ringing you up in the morning to sing “Happy Birthday” on the phone. I’ll never be ringing you up to sing “Happy Birthday” again. But I’ll be singing to you in my heart all day long, because you are always with me.

Happy Birthday Mum. I love you.

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