Fragments of Confession

B"H

Another Year

Dear Beatrice, 

We just received notice of your approaching yahrzeit.  As in past years I will most likely be the one to buy the candle, set it up, and light it.  Your son, my husband, might be there because I will have called him to participate in this gesture but then again he might still be working when the time comes to light this candle... so, who knows?  Perhaps you do.  

I must admit diminishing anger.  You no longer occupy my every waking moment.  Your boxes of stuff never got dealt with to a natural conclusion.  I kept seeing things that had no connection to the version of you that you bestowed upon me.  I saw a wonderful, vivacious, and confident woman.  But that is not who I knew.  I stopped going through your worldly possessions the day I found your perfume.  

OY!

B"H

Do We Ever Know the Whole Story?

"It's not good to get old." 

That's what Beatrice had the chutzpah to say to me, ... TO ME ... while I was in the middle of my second round of chemotherapy.  I stood there in her apartment waiting for her to get ready to come to us for dinner.   She is toddling around her apartment looking for something, her glasses perhaps.  One of those things that you need in order to find.  Oh well, I was ready to scream but all I said was that it looked good to me.  Maybe it was the missing glasses.  Did she not see how bald I was from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.  No eyebrows, no eyelashes, BALD.   ... I resembled my baby pictures all thanks to this chemotherapy.  Getting old, raising my family to meet milestones like bar/bat mitzvah, chupah (the wedding canopy), grandchildren, the next generation, another gift to the world... maybe they will improve on the mess we leave to them.  Getting old sounded good to me. 

What was it that made her thoughtlessly bad mouth her gift and blessing of time in my presence?  Ver Veys! (Who knows?!)

A New Book?

B"H

Chapter One:  A Mystery Unfolds?



The address book ...

Beatrice, the day you died I spent the entire afternoon and evening on the telephone.  Your address book gave me all the numbers I needed to call.  But, there was something odd about the entries.  Only one person was named, the blood relation, not the spouse.  Telli and Isidore, for example were married over sixty years.  Yet, Isidore was the only name that graced your entry for the family. 

Do you remember the day?  I was so hurt when you told me to my face that I was not family and never would be.  I believed your shunning me was unique and deeply personal.  But you shunned Telli also.  And she had more right to be called family than I ever did.  If you could dismiss Telli then I was in very good company.  Telli was a great and gracious lady endowed with exquisite modesty. 

First Yahrzeit - The Candle

B"H, 

Your Son, My husband...

What the hell is going on between you two?

Beatrice, it's a year since you died.  (Oy, I am going nuts.  I'm talking to a candle.)  It is sundown, everyone is home but no one is with me.  It is time to light the first yahrzeit candle for you.  Your son, my husband, should be doing this.  You were his mother, not mine.  You made that clear to me on so many occasions.  So, you might ask, why am I lighting this candle?  ... because I take care of these things.  Did you even notice who was taking care of this candle to elevate your soul?  Me.  I lit this candle for your sake.  Your son is not holding this burnt out match, I am.  

Please excuse me now.  I am preparing our Shabbos* menu.  

A ONE WAY CONVERSATION WITH MY DEAD MOTHER-IN-LAW

B”H

-She said WHAT?!?

* You are too old, too religious, too ugly.

-She has never seen me.

*You are a gold digger and not worthy of me.

-(Laughter)

*What’s wrong with you? 

-It’s a cliché times three:  1) my son the doctor; 2) my son, my baby, the mezhinik (Definition of mezhinik); and 3) my son, MY SON.  Did you expect anything else?

*(silence)

          I’m upset.

-I can tell.

* That’s it.  She finally gets what she says she has always wanted and it is still not good enough.

-So,

*We’re getting married with or without her.

-I love you.  By the way, how did you come to this conversation?

*Okay, I called her to tell her I’ve just gotten engaged to a nice Jewish girl.  And she asks me how long we’ve been dating.

-And you said?

*Two months.

-Anything else?   …like we’ve been acquaintances for over ten years.

*No, she only asked about dating.

-Oy.

          So, Grandma that is how we met.  Before we ever laid eyes on each other; before we ever spoke you decided that I was wrong.  Wrong for being too old… wrong for being too religious… wrong for being too ugly… and dangerous for being a gold digger.