Shabbat is a beautiful day, an island in time, in which I relax and connect with G-d. I enjoy the special foods, prayers, and having time to learn. I like preparing for Shabbat. I enjoy the smell of a hot crockpot filled with cholent on Friday afternoon. However, Shabbat is also emotionally hard for me. My son, Jacob, died on Shabbat morning. ( No wonder the words morning and mourning sound the same. ) I have so many memories of what our Shabbat together used to be like. Shabbat just isn’t the same without my son. Since he passed away, all I have are those beautiful memories, and I don’t want to forget them.
Coping with the devastating loss of a child is difficult enough. What makes it harder is when I think about the special relationship I had with my son, and the special time we had together on Shabbat.
Shabbat Memories
Jacob’s Guacamole
One of our family Shabbat traditions is eating homemade guacamole. The kids liked guacamole when they were small, and continue to enjoy it as adults. It remains one of the very special foods at our Shabbat meals. Jacob made the best guacamole, using ripe avocados, salt, lemon juice, minced onion and garlic. He prepared it in such a way that big chunks of avocado remained in the mix. It was delicious and he enjoyed making it for us.
Jacob and Kiddush
At the start of our Shabbat meal, my husband made kiddush, the special prayer over a brimming cup of wine. In the Kiddush prayer, we acknowledge that G-d is the creator of Heaven and everything in it. In this way, we formally remember the six days of creation and G-d’s resting on the seventh. After reciting kiddush, my husband poured some of the wine into my glass and into Jacob’s glass. Jacob didn’t like wine, so after taking a sip from his glass, he’d pour the rest into my glass. Sometimes we asked Jacob to make kiddush, which he did over grape juice.
Talking With My Son
Our conversations at the Shabbat meals were always interesting. We’d discuss the parsha, current events, or whatever came to mind. Sometimes Jacob gave a dvar Torah, discussing a special insight from the Rabbis and Sages on the Torah portion of the week. He asked questions, we asked questions, and we learned from each other.
On long Shabbat afternoons, it was a particular pleasure to have Jacob with us. Sometimes we took a walk together. The extra time gave us more opportunity to talk. We didn’t agree on everything we spoke about, but we each knew we shared a special relationship and love.
Havdalah
On Saturday night, Jacob would often recite the havdalah prayer for us, the prayer formally addressing the conclusion of Shabbat. The word havdalah means ‘separartion’, acknowledging the difference between the Shabbat day and the other of the days of the week. My husband’s Hebrew sometimes falters, so it was a pleasure to hear Jacob recite havdalah in fluent Hebrew. He had a special way of touching the wine cup which I’ll always remember.
His Absence is Hard for Me, But Not for Him
The Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson of blessed memory, said that when someone dies, it’s not hard for the person who passed away, but rather for those who are left behind. That’s so true. I miss Jacob’s kiddush, his havdalah, his dvar Torah, his company. I miss him. Although his absence is hard for me, it’s not for him. He’s fine.
This World is a Reflection of What’s Above
Our Sages say that our physical world is a reflection of what’s above in the spiritual world. Our Shabbat kiddush, prayers, and learning all have a spiritual counterpart. Jacob still makes kiddush, prays, learns, and makes havdalah. It’s just that he’s doing these things Above rather than here below, and he’s doing them a bit differently without a physical body. He has lively conversations with all our relatives who have passed on. He’s having a great time.
I wonder what the spiritual counterpart to guacamole is. Maybe it’s that Jacob and his guacamole gave extra pleasure to our Shabbat. Just as he gave so much pleasure to his family friends here, I know he’s making people happy in the Next World too.
Coping With the Death of a Child 
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