Before is that glorious time we didn’t even know we had until After.

Before is asking, “Who else is coming for Pesach?” “Which room are you putting us in?” and you cleaning up MagnaTiles and plastic cups all day long. After is breaking down, sobbing, after hanging up the phone with Tattie — that ominous call we were anticipating but dreading, confirming your diagnosis.

Before is you asking “How are the kids?” “What’s new by you?” and “Haven’t talked to you in a few days, figured I’d check in.” After is one-sided conversations with me blabbering on and on about the kids’ colds and snow days and other nothingness and you saying, “Guess I’ll let you go” because really you were too weak to talk.

Before is your cookies and cupcakes, sesame chicken and sweet-and-sour meatballs, Wednesday night schnitzel. Roast on Yom Tov, a second potato kugel for Friday afternoon, and spelt challah every Shabbos. After is the rest of us divvying up Shabbos duties, “This tastes different — who made it?” and “What’s the recipe for blintzes again?” “Is this how Mommy does it?”

Before is your cookies and cupcakes, sesame chicken and sweet-and-sour meatballs, Wednesday night schnitzel. Roast on Yom Tov, a second potato kugel for Friday afternoon, and spelt challah every Shabbos. After is the rest of us divvying up Shabbos duties, “This tastes different — who made it?” and “What’s the recipe for blintzes again?” “Is this how Mommy does it?”

Before is you up first in the morning, the entire Shabbos prepped before work on Friday, minivan loaded down with groceries in the back, laundry around the clock. After is, “Is Mommy up yet?” “How was last night?” Weakness and nausea, you confined to a wheelchair, paltry appetite and weight loss, sucking on a single orange slice for a little taste.

(Excerpted from Family First, Issue 607)