Zayda's english yartzheit is around the corner and his hebrew yarzheit was a week ago. I guess it is fitting for me to be formulating my thoughts around now.
Yesterday, I really thought about Zayda, and how one day of his life reminded me about Harry Potter. Like Harry, my Zayda should have died one day, but he didn't. He lived on.
50 years ago on July 14th my Zayda almost died, but he miraculously lived. He was burned almost over all of his body in a horrific propane accident. However, he fought an amazing fight and lived.
Now, 50 years later, after an entire year without my Zayda, I realize how lucky I am he was a fighter. I easily could have never met my Zayda, but he lived. It makes me realize that, while I still miss him day in and day out, that I am beyond blessed with a Zayda who had the will to live.
Yesterday, during a rough and hectic day at camp, I kept thinking about Zayda, and how he fought harder and fought the best fight he could. Even though I felt like my campers were winning, which at times they may have been, I kept holding on and thinking that Zayda would have been able to fight on.
So Zayda, thank you for fighting. Thank you for fighting on for Bubbe, and Mom, and Uncle Lou and eventually Avi and me. You truly left a huge imprint on my life and your fighting spirit is such a part of that.
To Arthur Benjamin, the Zayda that lived.
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