Don't blink

hi from right before the bar mitzvah

Hi from right before the bar mitzvah.

One of the things that usually happens at a bar mitzvah is to play a montage during the celebration. It’s about a 10-minute movie, a this-is-your-life situation.

For this to happen, I had to go through every photo on my phone — hundreds of thousands of them — starting with the one below, taken exactly 13 years ago today, June 5th, 2013. Then I’d pass them on to my cousin Millie to turn into the film.

If you asked me my favorite photo ever taken, it would be this one.

I had to do it in chunks. One afternoon, I was in the front seat of the car, tick 2015, tick 2016, tick 2017. Of course I have to stop every few pictures to send the really good ones to friends and family: kids in diapers at Jane’s Carousel, the cabins up north, so many moments on boats, and a video of my dad spinning infant Sammy in circles.

And then I hit a photo I wasn’t ready for.

Sammy, two months old, is meeting my cousin Brad for the first time. I had just landed in Michigan with him, our first trip of millions from LGA to DTW. I remember asking Brad, my first cousin, raised like a sibling, “Will you be Brad or Uncle Brad?” He looked at me like I had three heads, insulted. Like why would he be anything other than Uncle Brad.

We lost Brad suddenly, right before Sammy’s first day of kindergarten. I’m feeling acutely that he should be here this week. Zach, too.

I had to put the phone down for a while after that one.

A few weeks ago, we went to try on the tux. Sammy has worn a full suit every day since 2nd grade, marching to the beat of his own drum (and looking good doing it!). But this is his big moment, so a tux. He walked out of the dressing room, and I could see it. He knew that this was his moment. Full swagger, huge grin, almost jumping up and down. I was trying not to cry as he was trying not to float off the ground.

And then there was the afternoon I sat alone in the sanctuary while Sammy practiced reading Hebrew out of the actual Torah with the rabbi for the first time. Just the two of them up there, and me in the audience. He was a bit nervous, so he did what he always does: started cracking jokes, making the rabbi laugh, lightening the mood for everyone, including himself. I sat there watching him while so many feelings washed over me: heavy and proud and in disbelief that we’re actually at this moment.

There’s a character in Inside Out 2 — Nostalgia — who keeps trying to butt in among Joy and Anger and Fear. The other emotions keep telling her (I can hear it in an Amy Poehler voice!): Go away. Not yet. Not yet.

That’s me. That has always been me. I feel time passing in a way that’s acute, or maybe I just don’t hide it as well as others. I notice, and I hold on. I often try to make a movie in my mind, one with the clip of my dad spinning Sammy around in circles as an infant. So I can send it on to the family group chain. It’s like I can’t keep it to myself.

Or maybe it’s more like I know what this is worth while it’s happening. I always have.

Last night I stayed up late writing the speech I’ll say on the bimah. I talked about Sammy’s kindness and his huge heart. How so many people surround him with so much love, the ones who will be there in person and the ones looking down from the sky. (Hi, Uncle Brad. Hi, Z.)

I’ll save the rest of the speech for Saturday. But one of the themes: I’ve been told my whole life, especially as a parent, not to blink. And I never could figure out what to do with that advice, because blinking is involuntary, and also because how else is there to go through life and parenthood besides one foot in front of the other?

But I did see it. All of it. Recorded in my mind, or sometimes on my phone. I saw every bit of it.

People started arriving yesterday for the big weekend. There will be a Shabbat dinner, then the ceremony, and then a Black Tie Pizza Party in a church basement (as we do). Sammy and his dad in tuxes, me and his sister in gowns.

Somewhere in a slideshow, there will be toddlers in diapers at Jane’s Carousel, my dad spinning an infant in circles, and a three-month-old baby meeting Uncle Brad for the first time.

I’ve spent my whole life trying not to blink.

This weekend — surrounded by so many loved ones — I’m going to try as best as I can to soak it all in.

xx,

Leah

PS I just watched the final draft of the montage and sobbed, so please send all your thoughts and prayers for my mascara!!