As I type these words, I glance at a picture postcard that I keep on a shelf beside my computer. In purple block letters are written 3 words: smiles and giggles. Two little sisters are smiling and hugging each other. Their faces are filled with the magical delight that only children know. Below their photo is a short note from their parents to me, sending their best wishes. I pause for a moment and remember.
It has been 19 years, and yet the day arrives and it still feels raw. Though seasons come and go, and one has the privilege of walking children to the chupah and joyously embracing the next generation, when the yahrtzeit licht is lit, we are still that child who yearns. Bais Shevat arrives and I am once again the little girl who is waiting for my Abba at the door, wanting to see his face and hear his voice one more time. This past week was no different.