Sitting Shiva for Yeshua (Jesus)

We came home, to an empty home

to sit shiva for my son

my daughters and I, my sons and 

the ghost of the man who promised to raise him as his own son.

The rabbis say that shiva does not begin until after the burial

but we could not even bury him.

Shabbat HaGadol, the Great Shabbat of Pesach

means that I am anointing a lamb shank with spices

when I were that it was the body of my son.

I think back on the seder plate my daughters set last night

and all I taste is the marror, the bitterness.

The haroset, the sweetness has turned to dust in my mouth.

I can no longer remember its taste.

Sitting on this earthen floor

looking at my bare feet in the light of the shiva candle

I remember his tiny feet and curled toes

and I remember the hammering, hammering, hammering - 

his beautiful feet!

People come and go, bringing food, covering the mirrors

sitting with us.

I see them and then they are gone

a sea of faces

a blur of words

I know they mean well.

Was there a second seder tonight? 

I can't remember.

There are eggs. The Pesach eggs have become shiva eggs.

No one has to remind us not to bathe or dress 
or comb our hair or change our clothes.

I will sit in this place until havdalah

when the sun sets on Shabbat.

Then I will go to him, my child, and bathe him again.

They tell me that I can not, that I should not,

that it will be too hard for me to see him, smell him.

I cannot bear to never see him again.

I cannot bear seven days of this...