I am overwhelmed with melancholy. Generally, my ability to get through the day receives a great assist from the genetic gift of optimism received from each of my parents. My father’s optimism helped him survive the reality of pogroms in Russia where a focus on reality was counter productive. My mother’s optimism helped her survive the reality that my grandmother wished she had died in a miscarriage rather than be evidence of the guilt she felt for the conception.
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“The most bloody pogrom in the history of Odessa: about 400 Jews were killed, 50 thousand were left homeless”
https://odessitua.com/articles/20242-samyy-krovavyy-pogrom-za-vsyu-istoriyu-odessy-ubito-okolo-400-evreev-50-tys-ostalis-bez-krova.html
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These days I use logic to convince myself that there is a rational element within my environment that gives me cause for hope. However, it is now 7:05 in the morning. Last night I hardly slept. This is not a good time to question the optimism that keeps me going.
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Yesterday, a Chanukah card slipped under my door began this ongoing period of doom. After reading the card, I returned to my computer to listen to voice mail. The grandson of a dear friend–part of my extended family–had died. My friend had left a Chanukah present on the other side of the door. Her grief was so great, she said, that she could not come in. She and her husband have yet to get drunk with me. Not that drinking bourbon is a great idea these days given the damage radiation has inflicted on my GI tract. Nevertheless, there are times when consuming alcohol is a necessary sacrifice. I have been writing in my head all night an obituary. When appropriate I will share it with you.
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