By Rabbi Rachel Esserman

This past Memorial Day weekend, I continued a tradition my mom and I started years ago: we would visit Westlawn Cemetery, stopping by her parents, my father and my little brother’s graves first and then visiting family and friends located throughout the cemetery. My mom would tell me stories of people I didn’t know and we would share memories of those whom we both knew.
After my mom passed away, I’ve continued to visit Westlawn during Memorial Day weekend. Rather than listening to her stories, I now remind myself of my connections to many people buried there, including some whose funeral I served as rabbi. The visit is always bittersweet: sorrow for those I still deeply miss, while also being reminded of the cycle of life – the older generation passes away to leave space for those who come after.
This visit made me think of something strange that has happened this year: I’ve been hearing my mom’s voice in my head and her words coming out of my mouth. To be clear, I don’t literally hear her, but rather my brain anticipates something she would have said in reaction to something I’ve done. The result of this might surprise those who didn’t know my mom: as I find myself acting more like her, I also find myself having more fun and more enjoyment in life.
First, I should make clear that for decades I took after my father. There were times I would say something to my mom and then looked around to see if my father was in the room because those were his words, not mine, coming out of my mouth. People who only know me as an adult might be very surprised to know that I was a very serious, almost solemn, child, one who didn’t realize she had a sense of humor until she went to college. 
But back to my mom: The first instance of my hearing my mom’s voice was after I did a funeral this year. For years, I would work for the paper, then race to do a funeral and then return to work for the rest of the day. This time I decided to take the whole afternoon off. What did my mom say about that? “It’s about time you used your brains.” I think my decision was based on the fact I’m getting too old and too tired to push myself like that, but she made a good point.
Anyone who knew my mom also knew that she was fond of a drink. If she were still alive and at home with me, there would have to be alcohol in the house. Since the pandemic started, that is no longer true. It’s not that I don’t have an occasional drink (especially if I am out with a friend who is having a drink), but I don’t feel the need to keep it within easy reach. The other month, I had an urge for a specific drink, though, but had resisted going to the liquor store. Then one day I was driving home and heard my mom’s voice saying to me, “Cut out the crap and buy the booze.” (For those who are interested, I bought two mini bottles of Disaronno, an after-dinner liquor that a friend refers to as a sickly, sweet, awful excuse for alcohol. Some folks drink it on the rocks, but I prefer to drink it room temperature so I can feel its warmth flooding my chest when I swallow it.)
I’ve also found my mom’s words coming out of my mouth. Since my mother could be blunt and was not particularly politically correct, I’ve been losing count of the times another friend exclaimed, “Rachel!” when I said something that shocked her. (My friend is a bit more circumspect with her comments.) Actually, that was something my whole family did: while I was growing up, we said things out loud that other people might think, but wouldn’t say. I joke that I grew up pretty much embarrassment proof because that made life with my mom easier. I have, however, learned to be more careful of my words. For example, if I don’t like a book or a movie, I’ll say it’s not to my taste. My mom would quickly rip it apart in such a way that made it almost impossible for you to appreciate it. That’s one part of her I prefer not to emulate.
However, there are many good parts of my mom to emulate. As I wrote above, I was a very serious child who was easily upset and took everything to heart. My mother would tell me that I needed to grow a tougher skin, something I’ve developed for my own sanity, although, at times, it still becomes far too permeable when I’m doing a funeral. She would also ask, “What is the purpose of life?” Her answer? “To have fun!” I try to follow that statement as much as possible, although it is still not always easy for me. But it’s good to have something to which you aspire. For me, being able to think about and hear my mom’s voice in my head is truly a blessing.