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This poem was inspired by V’Ahavta one of the most beautiful prayers of the Saturday morning liturgy from Deutoronomy 6:4-9. I first wrote it after losing a friend to suicide, and it has since become a helpful reminder each time I’m tempted to silence a part of me, or judge myself or someone else harshly.
The older I get, the deeper my appreciation of what it must’ve taken for my mother to keep going. What it must’ve taken for her to choose to bring me into the world after the unfathomable losses, what it must’ve taken for her to insist on choosing life.
Some days it takes a real act of will to remind myself that if I’m to really honor my familial legacy, I too must keep choosing; bitterness and despair or compassion and active hope.
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