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Shiva

"To me—and this is the Sadie Lackey Translation—shiva is a time to shed the pain, sadness and baggage of who or what you have lost."


Let's start with a little lesson on Jewish custom."Shiva" is a Hebrew word meaning, “seven” and is a seven-day period of formalized mourning by the immediate family of the deceased. The period of shiva is intended to help mourners through the first days of intense grief, but the Jewish people recognize that grief continues long after shiva and partake in additional rituals to mourn. The Talmud notes that this practice originated prior to the Flood, which is described in the story of Noah in Genesis. The Rabbis of the Talmud cite Genesis 7:10 as the earliest instance of shiva: “And it came to pass, after the seven days, that the waters of the Flood were upon the earth.” The Rabbis say these seven days were a period of mourning for Methuselah, who was the oldest man who ever lived. In Genesis 50:10, the reference is made even more explicit: “And he (Joseph) mourned for his father (Jacob) for seven days.”


News flash: I'm not Jewish, and you very well may not be either. (If you are reading this and actually are Jewish, please fact-check me: I just provided a really condensed version of shiva 101.) But whether you believe in a higher being or believe in ~just vibes~, mourning is a central part of the human experience that should not be underplayed. And mourning doesn't just happen at death; You can mourn a friendship, a missed opportunity, a previous chapter of life, or change. When I think of the word "shiva," I think of the word "shed." To me—and this is the Sadie Lackey Translation—shiva is a time to shed the pain, sadness and baggage of who or what you have lost.


I've been running full speed since I was declared, "cancer-free." Trips, cook-outs, school, work, building a Foundation, you name it: I've been there and present with bells on. But in the midst of livin', it became clear I wasn't giving myself any time to mourn, and like a light bulb from heaven, I was introduced to this idea of shiva through one of my favorite podcasts. The host noted in an episode that she tacked on shiva to her family vacation. She stayed a few extra days by herself in the house her family rented to mourn the change and loss she had experienced in that season of life. She spent a few days grieving and crying out to God, spending time with the Source of her joy and comfort. She left with a renewed spirit and ready to move forward.


Like I said: I haven't given myself a lot of time to mourn what I've lost the past year, and, frankly, I haven't wanted to. Now that my cancer is gone, I just want to chase after joy. I don't want to relive the pain and darkness that has plagued my body, soul, and mind the past year. I want to press forward. But it's hard to charge ahead if you're weighed down with heavy baggage. I looked for space to mourn, and moving out of my apartment became a natural time to do so. As I packed boxes, I packed away memories of having cancer and relived the times when I thought I would never be struck with such an illness. As I cleaned, I remembered sitting with the news, the way I felt after treatment, the tears I shed. As I loaded boxes in my car, I remembered a time I couldn't pick up a case of Gatorades sitting at my front door from a friend who sent them to me. When I was alone during this move, I would sob and cry out to God and let the emotions run out of me. My soul was begging to let go of the loss—the time, opportunities, and good health I had given up because of cancer. That move put me in a very weird headspace for a few days, and let me tell you, it was hard. But certainly worth it.


This move marked a new season of life for me. The torture and grief of cancer were left at my old apartment, and I am waltzing ahead at full speed. But to celebrate this new beginning, I had to remember everything: I had to sit shiva.





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