What does she think each week as she lights candles, my daughter who is no longer married?

It was Shabbos again. Time to bentsh licht.

Following the stressful last-minute cooking, cleaning, and washing up, the special day arrives. It feels good to collapse on my gray leather couch after the short winter Friday marathon. I run my fingers along the smooth leather, finally relaxing.

Sara sits down near me and opens her siddur to Shir Hashirim. I’ve been asked to join groups of 40 women who say Shir Hashirim as a zechus for someone many times, but had always declined.

Not Sara. I don’t know who she’s doing it for this time. I don’t even ask. Though her siddur is open, her eyelids droop. Hashem knows how many people she helped today. There was Shimmy, the boy with Down syndrome, whom she took with her when she shopped for the family. She called Aunt Chany. She even made a batch of challah for our family and brought two loaves to the elderly Mrs. Spitzer.

And I, barely coping with all the thoughts buzzing in my head, look at Sara, my oldest. Sara, my kind, caring, good daughter. I see her big heart and her kind eyes. I may not say it often, but I know I’m blessed to be her mother. More than blessed.

Sara jolts awake. She smiles at me.

It can’t be easy to be in the shidduch parshah week after week, month after month, and come up empty. Another week. Another Shabbos. Another no. Another aggravation.

We’re in this together, yet Sara’s the one struggling.