It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.
It was his wedding night, the night of his life, the night
where he would be crowned prince and all would rejoice. It
was the most momentous occasion of his twenty-something
years. He stood, silently, stoically, under the canopy,
waiting for his princess.
The bride glided down the aisle while the onlookers stood up
in respect, marveling at her quiet beauty, her reserved
grace. Her head was slightly bowed as she fervently chanted
the words of Psalms. Her parents stood proudly at her side
holding two flaming torches. It wasn't every night that they
were royal family.
Three of his cousins, the court musicians, sang happy, but
haunting, tunes.
His father stood by his side, smiling majestically. Yet, only
a select few knew that his smile was not an ordinary smile.
People smile when they are happy, when there is a reason to
rejoice. People smile when they are amused, when they feel
good. His smile was a mask, a veil to his sorrow. One cannot,
after all, rejoice, when almost all is lost.
It was one of those games you can find in a child's playbook:
What's wrong with this picture? It seemed picture-
perfect.
But, the queen, the mother of the prince, was not there. She
was elsewhere. She was lying in a cold, white-walled hospital
room where the machine next to her had monotonously beeped
faithfully for the past eighteen months.
Eighteen months. How much can happen in a year and a half. A
duckling can become a swan, a bird can build a new nest. It
had been many days since the day that had changed their
lives.
*
She had been driving home from work; it was twilight, the
roads were slippery from slushy snow and she was in a rush.
She had to make supper since the babysitter would want to
leave soon, her son was going to be coming home for Chanukah,
she needed to redecorate the guestroom, they were having
guests for Shabbos, she hadn't started her cooking yet, she
had to help her daughter with her math homework and Oy!, she
was in such a rush to get home!
It had been a long day at work, her boss had left her about a
gazillion assignments for tomorrow; she had to get home! She
peeked at the neon green numbers on the car clock for just a
second, just one second, to see if she had time to stop at
the grocery store and buy milk for breakfast tomorrow. They
were always running low on milk. She only looked for a
second, she only took her eyes off the road for a second, a
moment, a jiffy, a tick, an instant, a flash.
But that was all it took. A big green van driven by a drunk
lunatic came swerving from around the corner and smashed into
her car, pulverizing everything into smithereens.
Everything.
A lot changed over the eighteen months while she lay, a
vegetable, in her hospital bed. Her baby had her fourth
birthday. Mommy? Who was Mommy? Mommy was a stranger. Mommy
was someone her friends in kindergarten spoke about. Mommy
was someone she didn't know.
Her third grader was now a hard-working fifth grader. Her
eighth grader had just entered tenth grade. Her oldest
daughter was engaged. And tonight was her son's wedding.
Only, she didn't know; she didn't know anything. The only
thing that hadn't changed was herself.
She lay there, hooked up to what seemed like a bazillion
different machines, each and every one beeping steadily.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
*
Somewhere, across town, a strong leather-clad foot came
crashing down on a glass cup. Mazel Tov! Her son, her oldest
child, her 'twenty-year-old' was married.
The prince's friends broke out into a joyful rendition of
'Od Yishoma,' clapping as they merrily escorted the
royals out of the hall. The king joined along, a tear
slipping down his face as he watched his son — wasn't
it just yesterday that he had held him for the first time
— shyly walk alongside his bride.
The onlookers smiled. It was obvious that the king's tears
were of joy. Wasn't it? After all, it is not every day one
marries off his oldest son.
No one really knew what was in his heart. Only Tzippora, his
queen, his princess, really understood him. But, Tzippora
wasn't here.
He headed to the main hall and heard the band strike up a
lively, blissful tune. Well, why not? Why shouldn't everyone
be happy?
He sighed. It was so hard to be happy without Tzippora at his
side to share his emotions. Of course, the difficult times,
the nights spent agonizing were hard. They were rough, they
were treacherous and tortuous and arduous to get through
without an encouraging nod, a smile. But this, the happy
times, were even harder.
No one wants to live through a thorny time, and for that
reason, he was glad that Tzippora wasn't there when Yaakov
had been sent home from school. He was glad that Tzippora
wasn't able to see another boy turn Adina down because their
family used a plastic tablecloth on Shabbos. But everyone
wants to be there at a momentous occasion, and he knew that
Tzippora had been looking forward to this special day from
the moment Tzvi was born. They both had. And yet, she
couldn't be here.
"How Tzippora would have loved to see him walk down the
aisle!" he thought sadly to himself. "How she adored him. No
matter how old he was, he had always been her little boy, her
little Tzvi. How she would have loved to be here." He wiped
away another tear.
"Why are you crying, Tatty?" Shulamis, the baby, asked. "Are
you sad?"
He stared at her. The little pipsqueak. The mess of blonde
curls that had been carefully made up into a dramatic hair-
do (Adina and Rochi had insisted). The daring gray eyes,
edged with blue, sparkling inquisitively, waiting curiously
for an answer. The nothing of a body, a wispy thing, clad in
a pretty pale pink gown. His baby. When had she grown up?
When had she turned four? Why wasn't Tzippora here to see the
child that looked so much like her?
"Because I love you," he whispered, gathering her in an
embrace. And he did. He loved her, and he wanted her to meet
the woman she barely remembered.
"Tatty," she murmured into his ear.
"Yes?"
"I miss Mommy. When is she going to wake up?"
And that was all it took for the floodgates to burst open.
*
Yaakov, who was standing in the lobby of the hall, felt a
snatch at his head. "Hey!" he said, turning around. He
couldn't help but feel annoyed. Must be Daniel, his cousin,
Daniel was always trying to act cool and snatch his yarmulke
off his head.
When he saw the criminal though, he felt his face turn from a
mixture of disgust and irritation to joy. "Ari!"
"Hey, Yaakov, how are you?" said Ari, his old friend. They
had known each other since babyhood, and had lived in the
same neighborhood until two years ago.
"Everything is fine," Yaakov said nodding, trying to keep his
face controlled. As fine as everything can be. His mother was
in the hospital and had been there for the past four years.
It's not like things were dandy.
"That's great! Listen, remember that game you made up, the
one with the Rebbe cards, before I moved?"
The game? With the Rebbe cards? Before he left? That seemed
like a lifetime ago. Why he must have been in second grade or
something? He vaguely recalled something about trading Rebbe
cards with baseball cards but he wasn't exactly sure if that
was it.
"No, not really," he managed to mutter. Did Ari really expect
him to remember?
"Oh, well, I'll teach it to you! My friends and I still play
it!" Ari then proceeded to go into a lengthy monologue.
But all Yaakov could think was, Rebbe cards? It's my
brother's wedding and he's talking to me about Rebbe cards?
My mother is lying in the hospital and he is talking to me
about Rebbe cards? Who cared about Rebbe cards? Who cared
about anything? All he wanted was for his mother to get
better, to come back home. It had been eighteen months; it
had been a long time since he was a child.
*
Rochi and Adina were often known as the twins. Only two years
apart, they resembled each other greatly, from the silken
black hair (courtesy of their father), the round grayish blue
eyes (courtesy of their mother) and their perky little noses
(courtesy of Aunt Dottie). But the resemblance wasn't only
physical. They shared the same interests, read the same
books, listened to the same music, hung out with the same
group of friends and most of all, felt the same about many
different issues.
But there was one thing that they didn't feel the same way
about.
"Tonight is such a great night! It's a gorgeous wedding isn't
it?," Rochi said conversationally while she peered into the
mirror in the bridesmaids' room. "Do you think I need more
blush?"
Adina stared at her. "How can it be so wonderful if Mommy's
not here?" she said stoically, trying to hide her
emotions.
Rochi ignored her. "I love our gowns; they're so pretty,
aren't they? I think it was really smart to pick light pink.
It is such an elegant, summery color."
Adina gasped. "Don't you even care?"
"You're next!" Rochi said, raising her voice, as if desiring
to drone out Adina's words. "I hope Ta doesn't make us wear
these gowns for your wedding. I mean, YOU won't have to, of
course," she tittered. "You'll be wearing that gorgeous
Kleinfeld, but me and Shuli, we gotta get new ones. I'm
thinking somewhere along the line of royal blue. That's a
good color for the winter, isn't it? But will people think
it's too mature for Shuli? I don't. Dins, what do you
think?"
She drew herself away from the mirror to see a fat tear
rolling down Adina's cheek.
"It's the gowns, isn't it?" Rochi said shaking her head.
"Listen, I promise we won't wear royal blue! Okay? Will you
stop crying? Your mascara is already smudging."
"Why?" Adina hiccupped through tears. "Why do you keep
avoiding the topic? Why don't you want to talk about it?!"
"About what?" Rochi asked innocently. "My blush? I'm sorry I
switched the topic to gowns so abruptly. When Esty is done
with Ayala, I'll tell her to come to do me." She peered into
the mirror once again. "Yeah, I definitely need some more.
You too, you also need a major eye job. If you'd only stop
crying!" she said the last sentence in a most exasperated
voice.
"If only you would stop avoiding Mommy! It's like she doesn't
exist to you! You never visit her anymore! You never want to
talk about her. It's, it's as if . . . ," she paused for a
breath of air. "It's as if you wished she was dead!"
Rochi's eyes seemed to bulge out of their sockets. "I don't
know what you're talking about!" she whispered.
"You do too know, Rochel Miriam Friedman!" Adina said
hysterically. "Why don't you ever want to talk about
Mommy?"
"Stop!" Rochi whispered. "Just stop, okay!"
"Why?" Adina said, the tears falling freely down her face.
"Why don't you—?" She couldn't speak any longer because
Rochi placed her arm around her shoulder and her head on her
arm.
"I'm sorry!" Rochi said. Adina could feel the tears seeping
down Rochi's cheeks and onto the sleeves of her gown. "I'm
sorry," she whispered. "It's just that I miss her so
much!"
*
It was her wedding night. It was her beautiful, beautiful
wedding night and she couldn't believe it! Well, in reality,
she could. She had waited for this special day for so long.
And now it was finally here!
The first dance was of course, reserved for her mother. That
was the way it always worked. Mothers got the first dance. As
soon as she entered the hall and the band started playing,
she grabbed Ima's hand and started dancing and dancing and
dancing. Ima! Oh, Ima! How she loved her mother! How she
wished that she could somehow still stay the little girl who
had wanted nothing more than hot cocoa and stories about Bora
Bora. So, she danced, to her childhood.
The second dance was always reserved for sisters. Always,
that was just the way it worked. She grabbed hold of little
Malky's hand ("Ayala, you look so 'beeyooteefool!'") and
Shani's ("Ayala, could we do Kol HaMisamayach
later?"). She wished she could still stay up late and tell
her sisters stories about fantasylands and sip hot cocoa with
them. So, she danced, to sisterhood.
The next dance was always reserved for mother-in-laws. That
was just the way it worked, always. For a moment, she peered
around the room, looking for the woman who had raised her
husband. And then she remembered. Her mother-in-law was lying
on a hospital bed fifteen miles away. And . . .
unexplainably, she missed this woman whom she had never
met.
"Friedman?" Sari Dean had told her the week after she was
engaged. "The one on Oak Drive?"
She had nodded.
"Oh, you're a lucky girl!"
She nodded again. Everyone had been raving, from the start,
about what a gem Tzvi Friedman was. She didn't mind hearing
more praise, though.
"No mother-in-law to boss you around!" Sari said with a wry
smile.
And all Ayala could do was cover her mouth that had just
dropped open.
And there, she stood, it was the third dance. The dance with
her mother-in-law, and yet, her mother-in-law wasn't there.
She sighed and felt her chin just drop a little. She stared
into space for a moment, but then was jolted back to the real
work.
She peered down and saw a little girl with curious gray eyes,
edged with blue, tugging at her gown.
"Will you dance with me, 'Yala?" she asked sweetly.
"I would love to, Shulamis!"
*
He was the prince. His friends were holding him high on a
chair, into the air. He looked down at the women's section,
there was his bride, hard to miss. His sisters were standing
at her side with Aunt Dottie, trying to force her onto a
chair. Almost impulsively, he looked for another woman. And
almost impulsively, he remembered that she was not there.
There was Ayala, up in the air, trying to get his attention.
"Tzvi!" she said waving one of the white dinner napkins.
He grabbed hold of the other end.
It seemed to him as it were almost a surrendering flag from
heaven. One thing, his mother, in exchange for his bride.
It was somehow, the worst and the best of times at the same
time.
He missed his mother, he missed everything about her, from
her chocolate chip cookies to her warm tinkling laugh. He
missed her so much.
But as he smiled at his new wife over the mechitzah
and saw her pale blue eyes light up like fire, he was
reminded of someone else. Someone, who also loved it when he
smiled.
It was then he knew, she would always be with him.
