I have struggled to
write these past couple of weeks. Each day, I ran a script in my head but when
I sat down to write I could not seem to get the words to come. This new day of
a new week of a new month seems an auspicious time to try.
Barry and I met on
the first day of classes my freshman year (Barry’s sophomore year), outside of a
Differential Equations class. Although we had some common friends and would run
into each other occasionally, we did not start seeing each other until the
spring, when I would come back to my dormitory room and wonder why this longish-haired
guy in a flannel shirt seemed to always be sitting in front of my window.
By the time we left
for our respective summers “at home,” his in New York City and mine in West
Hartford, we were definitely a couple, and tried to see each other as often as
we could, traveling back and forth on the bus or train between New York and
West Hartford.
Barry’s mother ע"ה
(may she rest in
peace), and I got off to a rocky start. I still remember the first time I met
her, at his parents’ lower Manhattan apartment on a high floor of a new
building. I had awoken early and went to the living room to see the view and
found his mother there. She started talking about Barry and told me how she
imagined someday he would meet a nice girl across his laboratory bench and they
would fall in love. What was I, chopped liver? Why did she think I was
there? I took this to mean that she was not especially impressed with me. Only
later did I realize that it had nothing to do with me, it had only to do with
her little boy growing up and leaving home. So although she had said something
that seemed a bit rude, it was more an expression of her being a mother than
anything particularly objectionable about me.
It turned out I was
probably correct. By the time we got married, and particularly once we had
children, she seemed comfortable enough with me. Reflecting on this now, from
the perspective of a mother-in-law, I understand how challenging it can be to
navigate this territory with a grown “child” who you did not raise but you love
because your child loves him or her. From that grown child’s perspective, she
or he is more or less stuck with you, and there is no shortage of mother-in-law
jokes that reflect this.
The years went by.
Barry’s mother developed a very close relationship with our daughters as well
as her other two granddaughters (children of Barry’s brother). Living in
different places, the two sets of girls did not spend much time with each other
growing up, but listening to what they shared at the funeral made me really
appreciate what a nice and close relationship she had with them as well.
When I was diagnosed
with CNS lymphoma almost 4 years ago (yes, it really has been that long), Barry
and his brother decided that it would be best if their mother did not know.
There were a number of reasons, and at the time it seemed the right course. Perhaps
because I was not in the habit of going to see her often, she fortunately did
not seem to notice that there was a long gap between my visits; I don’t think I
saw her until close to a year after the diagnosis.
As most of you know,
the disease and treatment left me at about 2/3 my pre-cancer weight, and most
people seeing me for the first time looked noticeably shaken by it. I knew my
mother-in-law’s eyesight was getting worse, but it was clear she could still see
well enough to have noticed. So before my first post-treatment visit Barry had
asked me to just tell her I had been dieting. But Barry’s mother, for whom a
change in weight was always the first thing she noticed about any of us,
did not say a word, not to me, not to Barry, not to the girls. For as long as I
knew her, she commented openly on weight gains, perhaps not to the
subject directly but to other relatives. How odd for me to be insulted that she
did not comment about a weight loss!
The months and years
continued, and because her eyesight continued to fail I never expected her to
notice after that, and she did not. Still, I wanted to tell her about what had
happened, largely because of the unbelievably loving care her son had given me
during those darkest hours and since. I never had a chance to do that.
I know many of you
reading this will think or say “if she didn’t know then, she definitely knows
now.” I am not sure what I believe happens when we are gone, and it is hard to
imagine that there isn’t something left of each of us out there. Still, I am
sorry I did not push harder to tell her.
I want to express my
deepest appreciation to the Rabbinic Team at Hebrew Institute of Riverdale:
Rav Steven, with far
too little sleep you were kind, patient, and knowledgeable as you walked us
through and made it happen
Rabba Anat, for your
comforting presence and amazingly kind words
Rav Avi, thank you
for taking time from your winter break to spend with us
We were supposed to
have left for St. John yesterday. When all this started a number of weeks ago,
we decided to cancel our trip. I guess we will finally find out just how well
trip insurance works. And on a very bright side, we will not miss our Maya performing
for the first time in a small recital this coming Sunday. Let’s just hope the
weather holds out to let us go!
Love,
Rebecca
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