How would people react? I did not want pity. But pity was the last vibe circulating in the hotel conference room

Mazel tov! L’chayim! Another engagement! Without lockdowns. We could make this wedding in an actual hall. Whoopee! A whole wedding with no masks and gloves!

I threw myself into the preparations. This was such a different experience from our previous Covid engagement. Stores were open! The credit card was smoking! I ran around with the kallah from store to store in search of the perfect brand of dishtowels.

I filled myself up with this simchah to plug the hole that still throbbed from Chezky’s absence. But I was honest enough to know that had Chezky been home, I never would’ve had the time to spend on all these fun and frivolous errands.

Part of my brain was still so habitually connected to him. At any given time I’d think: Where’s Chezky? Who’s watching him? What time is it? Did he have his meds? This had been second nature for me for so many years, it was taking time to deprogram myself.

For his part, Chezky was thrilled with the new simchah and his new brother-in-law. And especially the new suit and tie I bought him. He was settling down in his dirah, but was still very homesick. So much for those who assured me that this was going to become his real home away from home. Chezky wasn’t changing loyalties that fast.

It was four weeks before the chasunah when I saw the advertisement.

Chaim V’Chessed was sponsoring their first Moms of Special Needs Retreat — a two-day getaway planned for English speaking moms.

I was pleased to see this initiative; this was something a lot of people would benefit from. Then I went on with my day.

But my husband had also seen the ad. “I think you should go to this retreat,” he offered.

Me? Go away for two days?

“What about Chez—” No, right. There were no worries about who would watch Chezky.