The Things We Cannot Say(129)

Alina Slaski 1923–2019

Saul Weiss

Eva Weiss

Tikva Weiss

Now and without any instruction, Eddie settles himself automatically away from the crowd, perching on the flat boulder at the edge of the clearing as if he’s done this a million times before. He loads one of the train videos Wade saved for him before we left home, but before I can ask him to, he turns the sound all the way down, then looks at me and he smiles proudly.

I’m not sure my husband explained to our son what was expected of him, but that kid has been an angel today. It’s funny how, now that Wade and Eddie have finally bonded, there’s a whole new avenue from Eddie’s world to ours—and that’s certainly been helpful for our son. He’s going to school three days a week now—and on Thursday mornings, Wade goes to work late because he helps with the science lesson in Eddie’s class.

Wade and I still approach our relationship with our son very differently, and there is inevitably a tension in that. Wade will always want to push Eddie out of his comfort zone, and I’ll always want to provide him security and structure—but in the push-and-pull of our very different approaches, we’re achieving some kind of delicate balance. I benefit from that, but so does Wade, and most of all, so does Eddie.

Callie takes my hand as everyone automatically shifts into place around the grave site. Without any preamble, the priest begins the short, respectful service we planned.

Father Belachacz was initially confused when I called him a few weeks ago to ask his help today, and fair enough, because the whole story took some explaining. At first I just said that we needed a service for the ashes of my devoutly Catholic grandmother and everything we had of my Jewish grandfather and his other family. Once Father Belachacz got his head around it, he said he’d be honored to help us celebrate their lives and he’d figure something out. When we arrived here today, he introduced us to Rabbi Zoldak, who had come all the way from Krakow to assist.

I can’t think of anything more perfect or fitting for these people than a multifaith memorial service.

Now Father Belachacz invites Rabbi Zoldak to come forward, and he speaks to us all for a few minutes in English—about grief and love and the incredible power of sacrifice. I’m emotional as all of this is happening, but that swells to all new heights when Rabbi Zoldak begins to chant El Malei Rachamim. As the Hebrew words rise around us in that place, a tsunami of grief and gratitude hits me, and I can’t help but sob. I cry for the grandfather I so adored, and I wonder how he would feel to know that one day, we brought him to rest with Eva and Tikva and Alina and Tomasz, in a time when his faith could be celebrated in safety and with respect. Then I imagine Tomasz Slaski, a man I never had the privilege to know—but I don’t need to have known him to know that he would have approved of every aspect of this service and this arrangement, and there’s no question that my Babcia would have too.

The priest invites me to come forward. I drop my knees to rest against the soft grasses, then I gently rest the box inside the hole in the earth one of Emilia’s sons prepared for us. The priest crouches beside me and scoops up a handful of soil, then sprinkles it atop. He repeats this three more times as he says softly, “In the Name of God, the merciful Father, we commit the bodies of Alina and Saul to the peace of the grave, and along with them, the memories of Saul’s beloved Eva and Tikva.”

Wade takes the hand trowel from my backpack and finishes covering over the box. Later, Emilia’s son is going to arrange for this patch to be concreted over, so that we can all rest assured they will never be disturbed.

Then we stand, and it’s finished. There’s moments of quiet chatter, but then the crowd begins to disperse—returning to Emilia’s apartment in Krakow where she is hosting a luncheon for us all. My parents start to wander back toward the van, with Callie in tow, and Wade glances at me.

“You okay?” he asks gently.

“I’m good, actually but...” I clear my throat. “I could do with a moment?”

“I’ll take Eddie,” Wade offers. But then we both look over to him, and he’s settled on that long, flat rock, completely relaxed as he stares at his iPad.

“He’s fine.” I smile, then I kiss Wade’s cheek. “We’ll be back at the van in a few minutes.”

As Wade walks away, I stare at the plaque and the headstone and I think about the journey of the last ten months. Taking this trip for Babcia opened up the world to me, in ways I’m only just starting to understand now. I started writing down the things I learned on my trip for Callie and Eddie to read when they are older, and the project has taken on a life of its own—I think perhaps I might have inadvertently started writing a book.

I always thought my family needed 100 percent of my energy—but I’m learning that I can give them the full focus of my love and take the time to nurture other things that matter to me too. I’m even busier these days, but the curious thing is that I feel much less exhausted.

“Thank you, Babcia,” I whisper, as a gentle breeze stirs the branches above me. “Thank you for trusting me to find out the answers for you. I had forgotten I knew how to do that.”

Eddie sits up abruptly from his slump, and stares up into the trees around us, searching for something. As I watch him, a strange shudder passes through me.

“Eddie,” he echoes. “Eddie darling, do you want something to eat?”