When a parent passes, one of the hardest parts – at least for me – is the “year of firsts” – the first holiday without them, birthdays, Mother’s or Father’s Day, and so on. Yet I’m closing in on an excruciating year of firsts without my mom, and I assumed I’d feel relief… except I don’t.
It’s because I’m planning my daughter’s Bat Mitzvah without her.
For the longest time, I pictured us planning and celebrating this special weekend together. After all, my mom began writing her Bat Mitzvah speech to me on October 18, 1979 – the day I was born.
I still have it, written in her beautiful cursive penmanship, on consecutive pages of a fraying yellow legal pad. She fine-tuned it over the 13 years, until the day she read it to me on the bima, through tear-soaked eyes and leaning heavily on my dad for support.
Suffice it to say, I knew how much this milestone meant to her – to both my parents.
We weren’t religious by any stretch, but my dad, born in 1932, often reminded me how fortunate I was to live in a time and place where I didn’t have to hide my faith. He’d lived through enough to know how quickly things could change, and both my parents instilled in me a deep sense of pride in our culture, heritage, and the ability to survive hatred and overcome constant challenges.
Thus, from the time I was small, I knew that becoming a Bat Mitzvah was not just a rite of passage but an act of perseverance. Even as I complained about going to Hebrew school and tutoring sessions on all-important holidays like Halloween, I understood it was all part of something bigger – not only was I becoming a Jewish adult, but I was doing my part to help sustain our heritage.
And now, it’s my daughter’s turn.
But as we’ve begun to choose color schemes, themes, and vendors, and as I listen with pride to my child practice her prayers from her bedroom, the reality has sunk in: neither my mom or dad are here, and my firstborn will become a Bat Mitzvah without them.
Recently, at my nephew’s Bar Mitzvah, I watched a poignant moment unfold. The rabbi invited generations of the family to stand together – from great-grandparents down to siblings – and passed the Torah down the line, from one generation to the next, until it rested in my nephew’s arms.
L’dor v’dor.
My heart split wide open. How incredible and rare for a young person to have so many familial generations alive, well, and present—not just for this milestone but for the everyday moments, too.
G-d willing, my daughter will experience the same on my husband’s side. But… not on mine. Just as my father wasn’t there to walk me down the aisle or share a father-daughter dance at my wedding, my parents will not be present to embrace my child on her special day.
As I navigate this process without them, the emotions are mixed and overwhelming. There’s tremendous grief, longing, and heartache. Yet, at the same time, I am filled with immense joy because my daughter is working so hard, and I am exceptionally proud of her commitment and drive.
I’ve also realized that planning her Bat Mitzvah is a way to keep my parents present and their values at the forefront – a strong sense of cultural pride, unconditional love for family and one another, and unbreakable perseverance.
And so I will forge ahead, knowing that with each decision we make, the tradition we carry forward, and the story we share, we are honoring them and their principles and ensuring their love and legacy are woven into this beautiful and momentous milestone.
Marissa Bader is a writer and children’s book author with a background in mental health. Her books, The Only Me, Stella’s Brave Voice, and Petunia the Perfectionist are inspired by her three daughters, a set of twins and a singleton, and promote confidence, courage, and self-acceptance in kids. Marissa also enjoys writing personal essays and articles about mental health and parenthood. Her work has appeared in Psychology Today, HuffPost Parents, Time Out New York, and more. Marissa resides in Minneapolis with her family, and when not writing, can often be found drinking coffee and having dance parties. To learn more about Marissa and her books, or to schedule her for an author visit, head to her website at MarissaBader.com
Lovely, Marissa. Happy Mother’s Day to you.