When Giants Tremble

photo of where my baby brother and so many other loved ones are buried, Greenwood Cemetery in Brooklyn New York

I’ve heard people say that the most difficult relationships can be our greatest teachers. I begrudgingly agree. It feels ever so true, yet some of the scars forged in them never disappear. Heck, a lot of my work was born out of the lessons planted in my earliest connections to the dark and challenging ones.

For me, my most challenging yet ultimately healing, relationship was the one I had with my Pops. While looking for another piece of writing, I stumbled upon this old recollection. This will likely be my process as I go through so many years of writings, trying to extract what may make sense in my next book.

Allow me to take you back to the early 1970’s, Brooklyn New York. I was likely missing my two front teeth, still wearing cute flowered plastic barrettes, and donning my very best dress. I know there were bandaids upon my knees, and very likely a tiny purse filled with worms, pebbles, and feathers. My Pops was dressed impeccably, dark brown suit, a new tie from Sears and Roebuck, and of course his tiny black comb and fresh handkerchief tucked in his pocket. Funny how the details can be etched so deeply…

My Dad’s sobs that day were louder than life. He was a huge and rough man, not one to emote easily. Yet, to have him now sitting across from me wailing and screaming like an animal, I saw what grief could do, even to the strongest. 

“Why God, why? Why did you take my son?’’