My Purim Story
Thank you so much to this follower for sharing her thoughts about taking part in the holidays even when it seems impossible.
Take care of yourself today and do what feels right!
“I just wanted to share a bit of my story regarding Purim. This is not advice to anyone else. Just my own experience. Purim was always hard. I was sort of the aftermath of a tragedy. My father died when I was a year old. My mother never really recovered. But I didn't remember anything. I always felt left out of the Purim celebration. It seemed like everyone else was happy, but our house was always somber.
One year my brother and I came up with the most fabulous Purim "getup," complete with instruments and costumes and everything, and we "crashed" all the other parties. It was so much fun to finally belong. After that, throughout my long journey, Purim became my thing. I would do something totally over the top, something everyone wanted to see, so I could be part of the holiday. Weeks before, friends would ask when I'd be stopping by. When I hit 40, I was divorced after a short marriage with no kids, and I often felt I was too old to be doing this. I often wanted to stop, but then Purim would be so sad. Not only would I mourn my situation, but I would mourn the loss of all the fun I had once had.
I got married at 41. My husband also loved Purim, and we continued the tradition, although I began to scale it down to make it more manageable. We started IVF. Despite this, being around kids didn't bother me. I was used to not having what others had. I just wanted to be part of the celebration in some way.
This past year has been a hard one. My baby was due on Purim. She was born at 21 weeks. I named her Esther, so she is permanently linked to Purim. Additionally, my mom is dying from a horrible, horrible illness. Initially, I decided I was not doing Purim this year. But my friends kept asking what I was doing for Purim, and no one remembered it was my Esther's due date, so I wasn't in the mood to plan. None of it seemed to matter anymore. Eventually, I realized that if I didn't do anything, I would mourn not only my baby but the loss of "my" day. I decided to recycle an old "getup," so I didn't have to think about it, and then I could be free to do as much or as little as I was up to.
I could be part of the holiday if I wanted to, or not...if I changed my mind. I actually found packing shaloch manos therapeutic. I love to shrink- wrap and tie ribbons; The manual work is soothing. We were invited to a quiet seuda with another couple who experienced infertility and has 1 teenage daughter now. I feel like running away from the day just makes it sadder. I feel like I have found my balance. It will be hard, but it's one day, and it will be over quickly. There are so many days that are painful, and this is just a blip of time.
As much as the festivities are painful, being alone is harder. So for me it's been important to find my community of people who have a different journey; singles, people without children, people who have has losses, etc, and connect with those people. Ignoring the day doesnt make it less painful. Going to a party with young families is not the answer either. For me, it's been important to find the community to share this holiday with. And so I do.”