Stones

In Jewish tradition, instead of leaving flowers on a grave site, you leave stones. The origins of this are unclear but there are several schools of thought about it. One thought is that Jewish priests become impure if they get too close to a corpse so stones are left to warn the priest to stay back. Another thought is superstition. It is believed that the Jewish soul dwells for a while in the grave and stones are piled upon it to keep the soul down in this world, which may serve as a comfort. The stones also prevent demons from getting into the graves. The reason I always knew was that flowers, though beautiful, die. A stone does not die and signifies the permanence of memory and legacy.

This tradition is so fitting for Ariella. For whatever reason, she loved stones and rocks. And they didn’t have to be pretty or smooth or shiny rocks. They didn’t have to be a particular shape or color or anything special. She did not discriminate. Any rock was worth keeping. And she did. She carried them in the pockets of her sweatpants or hoodies, among many, many other objects. Often not cleaning them off first so she would also be carrying piles of dirt. She actually even slept with them in her hand sometimes. Why sleep with a nice, cuddly, stuffed animal when you could curl up with a rock? She would find large rocks outside, huge ones, even pieces of asphalt or just hunks of dirty, ugly, rocks and want to keep them. We compromised. She was allowed to keep those outside. They are still outside our door. These are the things I miss so much about her. Her quirks, her weirdness, her ability to take pleasure in such simple things as rocks and stones. These are also the memories I worry about forgetting. The little things, the ones that didn’t seem so important but were actually everything, because that was who she was, what made her, her. These little things, little memories, characteristics that made her the special, unique person she was. How do we live without that? She filled our lives, made them whole, made life interesting and silly and fun. Life is dull without Ariella in it. I don’t get to empty pockets filled with all sorts of random items, including rocks. I don’t get to witness her pranks or have her repeatedly try to scare me (which she did quite often, making me scream). I don’t get to see her silly faces anymore or hear her contagious laugh, or just be silly together. Life is drab, empty, meaningless, without Ariella in it. She was so vibrant, exuberant, outgoing, and full of life that her absence is always noticed. She was larger than life and nothing can replace that personality, that energy, that spirit.

When I go to the cemetery I always make sure to find the perfect stone to place on her grave. Sometimes I find one that looks like a heart, or is a pretty color or perfectly smooth. Other times I find the biggest one, that one that doesn’t have anything special about it, because she would have liked that one just as much. I always make a ritual of it. But with all that said about the stones I do love when I see fresh flowers on her grave. It comforts me to know that I’m not the only one thinking about her, visiting her, remembering her. I just hope that in 1 year, 3 years, 10 years she is getting as many flowers and as many visitors as she is now. Other than living without her, nothing else scares me as much as the fear of people forgetting her. She must be remembered, always. Her legacy must live on, always. Without that, there is no way I will survive this life without her. So don’t stop talking about her, to me, to others. Share her story, say her name. Always. Don’t let her be forgotten. Even years from now. She existed. Don’t erase her existence by not talking about her or remembering her. She did not deserve to die but she does deserve to always be remembered.