August 2024

“Mommy, I didn’t sleep last night.”

I stared at Chezky, the shadows under his eyes, the slightly glazed look I’d learned to recognize showed his connection to reality was becoming more tenuous.

My world crashed at my feet, the shards piercing my heart, my brain, my guts. No! No! And definitely No!

“What do you mean you didn’t sleep?” I demanded. “At all??”

Was this a fluke? Was this even possible? Could we possibly be entering another cycle of unbalance after five years of quiet? No!

But an hour later, there was no room for denial. I offered Chezky eggs for breakfast. He refused them. I poured him a bowl of Cheerios, which he generally likes, but he refused them as well. Then suddenly, he grabbed the bowl of cheerios and flung it on the floor, yelling, “I’ll never eat gluten again!” He was out the door in a flash.

How to go about finding a six foot 20-year-old who didn’t want to be found? Was he safe? What was he thinking?

My brain registered this as No Fluke. Despite five years of stability, we were in the throes of instability and only Hashem knew how long and how deep this bout would last.

What made it even harder was that it was the morning of my father’s yahrtzeit. I had plans to go to his kever and then to a siyum for the extended family.

Now, it didn’t look like I was going anywhere.

My husband went out searching for Chezky and eventually found him. Trying to stay calm, I asked Chezky what was wrong with the Cheerios.

“Don’t you know I’m allergic to gluten?” he shouted. “You were trying to poison me!”

Umm. Chezky didn’t have celiac. And until yesterday had been eating gluten with no problem. But hey, yesterday was not today, and all bets were off. Welcome to the new reality — ready or not.

Things rapidly regressed as the day progressed. I still so badly wanted to go to my father’s kever, and I finally made arrangements with one of my sons-in-law to watch Chezky while I went to the kever. I wouldn’t make it to the siyum.

I stood under the hot sun, saying Tehillim with the rest of my family. Part of me was completely numb, but under that part was a morass of emotions, simmering and threatening to explode.

After Kaddish was over, my family came forward one by one and left a rock on my father’s matzeivah. But I held back, waiting… waiting until I could be alone.

Finally I approached his kever. And then everything exploded. I sobbed, shaking so hard I couldn’t stand straight. Words failed me. Thoughts failed me. But the emotions seemed to pour out soundlessly on their own.

Abba!! I CAN’T do this!! Please go to the Kisei Hakavod and tell Hashem, I. Can’t. Do. This. AGAIN!

I was so broken, so destroyed by the thought of once again bearing the responsibility of watching Chezky 24/7 while he struggled to keep his balance. I had too much experience knowing that despite the wonderful hospitals and many programs aimed at helping people in this nisayon, bottom line, the buck stops with me. I simply couldn’t shoulder it again.

My tears were still flowing, my breath choking, as I tried to express my deepest feelings.

“Abba, when you were alive, I tried to shield you from Chezky’s illness. I didn’t want to worry you, to cause you pain. But now Abba, now you are in Olam HaEmes, you know all that’s gone on in the past and what’s going on now. Please, Abba, beg for me! Beg to my ultimate Father. Tell Him… tell Him… I simply cannot. I can’t live like this again.”

I don’t know how long I stood there crying. I do know that when I finished, I didn’t feel better, relieved by the catharsis. I felt completely hollowed out, incapable of any thought, feeling or action.

But my time was up. I had to get back to Chezky. I’d just told Hashem I quit, but there is no one on earth to take my letter of resignation.

December 2024

It’s been four months since my father’s yahrtzeit. Throughout these months, Chezky has been better, then worse, then better again. He’s worse now. No one who hasn’t been through this can fully understand this incredible nisayon, which takes its toll on everyone.

But I’m still here. Despite my insistence that there was no way I could do this again, I’ve done it. I’m continuing to do it. Against my will. With so much pain. But as long as Hashem obviously wants me to be doing this, I’ll continue. Despite my refusal to accept, I’m forging on.

Does that make me a tzadeikes? What do I know? I think it just makes me a Yiddishe Mama.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 921)