“You… you already applied?”

“Riva, don’t be upset. It wasn’t a two second decision. I applied months ago because I knew we’d be put on a waiting list. I spoke about this with daas Torah and doctors, and I’ve been thinking about this every day since.”

“I thought… I thought it was Dr. Maslow who told you about this place. Why didn’t you tell me that you applied on your own?” I asked, not bothering to try to keep my anger in check. Shmuli and I don’t make any decisions about our children without the other’s consent. It’s practically written in our kesubah. How dare he?

“Honestly, Rivs, I wasn’t even sure that Eliana had a shot, the waiting list for these things could take years. But I did mention this to you, remember? I told you that I was asking around about the Klienman Family home and asked if I should apply. You told me I can do whatever I want as long as you don’t have to be a part of it.”

He was right, I had said that. But I’d never dreamed he’d really go ahead and do it without me; I’d always been the one managing all of Eliana’s doctors and therapists and medications. I’d always been the one weighing and evaluating and making the decisions, Shmuli grateful for my work. When had that shifted?

Shmuli finally looked up, directly into my eyes.

“There’s another thing, Riva. I see you in the kitchen every night after you put Eliana to bed. You’re exhausted and emotionally drained and yet…”

I glared at him. “Yet what?”

“Yet you spend another hour, no matter how late it is, arranging flowers, changing the water, cutting the stems, and arranging the vases all over the kitchen.” I look around at the room. Golden pothos were spilling over the kitchen cabinets and vases of fresh geraniums were perched next to the coffee machine. Our house felt like a bit of a terrarium.

“What does that have to do with what we’re talking about?”

“Riva, it has everything to do with what we’re talking about. For years, you always talked about how you’d  retire and take courses in floral design, and I never really thought much about it, I’m a man, what do I know about flowers? But I see you, I see you arranging the flowers and clipping the tablescapes in magazines, but never doing anything more with your talent. And now we’re both at retirement age. And Rabbi Bodner has a late night chaburah I’ve always wanted to join. We both have things that we want to accomplish, and I feel like now is the time. You have so much talent, but you never let yourself express any of it. It destroys me.”

I swallowed, silently berating myself for my weak moments.

“I’m not saying that I think Eliana should move into a home so that you can take classes in floral arrangements and I can join the chaburah, but you’re not capable of taking care of Eliana like you used to anymore. Neither one of us is, but you refuse to see it, just like you refuse to believe that you have any interest outside of her.

“Just look at their website. I’m not saying that they can take your place as her mother. I’m saying that they can take care of our daughter in a way you no longer can. Remember yesterday when you had to wake up two hours early to dress Eliana for the day? In the Klienman Home they’ll have someone who will have Eliana dressed, fed, and read, every morning, on time.”

I couldn’t listen anymore. I turned to the window, staring out into the garden with my arms folded. This morning I’d watched the light creep up through the shades. I’d opened them halfway, letting the sun hit the sill, watching the stillness. Black-Eyed Susans and Blazing Stars were finally growing out of my flower beds despite the abandoned attention of its gardener. A miracle?

I looked again at the flowerbeds, then shut the windows with a vengeance. It was better that I didn’t get used to these moments. They didn’t belong to me.

“The only thing that’s bad for my blood pressure is this conversation. Can it be over now?”

Before Shmuli could answer we heard the loud noises of Eliana’s legs pounding the staircase. I quickly jumped from the window to the cabinet and pulled out her special cereal, grabbed the milk from the fridge, then locked it. I had everything set on the table before Eliana even entered the kitchen.

Shmuli and I both knew that she’d reject the cereal and spill it all over the floor like she’s been doing all week. She hated her new diet.

“Yeah, okay.” Shmuli sighed. “It’s over.”

What was Shmuli thinking? How dare he even imply that I’d give up my daughter for a hobby I’d mentioned 30 years ago? It wasn’t like I was ignoring my talents; I had a garden, didn’t I? And the way he was talking about the Klienman Family Home, as if it were some sort of hotel. I knew what it really was — a prison.

Eliana winced, instantly breaking my reverie.

“Too hot.” Eliana reached out and tried pulling the shower head away from me. I yanked it away and switched it to a cooler setting. Bathing Eliana is one of the hardest ordeals of the day. Undressing her and trying to sweet-talk her in to the tub gets harder and harder. Ayelet used to joke that afterward, you couldn’t tell who’d taken the shower, Eliana or I. My clothes were already dripping wet, from my shoes to my snood.

Eliana clawed at me again, still unsatisfied with the temperature. “Eliana, stop. Mommy’s going to change it.” But Eliana wasn’t happy with that answer. She grabbed the shower head out of my hands, and her force threw me off balance. I flailed at the air before my head hit the ceramic tile floor.

“Shmuli!” I called before everything became black.

The ride back home from the hospital was brutal. My forehead was bandaged, a neat line of stitches underneath the gauze. Not enough Harry Potter jokes in the world would appease Shmuli. His face was dark and unpacified. If this were years ago, I would have been able to anticipate Eliana’s move, to have maintained my grip. But I’ve aged, and so have my reflexes. I’m not as strong as I once was.

We both know it. But Shmuli is a better person than I, so he won’t say it.

So, a week later when we’d closed the lights on another night, and Shmuli turned to me with pleading eyes and said, “Please. Come to the Klienman Family Home with me. Humor me,” I brushed my hand against my forehead, took a deep breath, and choked out, “Okay.”

But I’m only doing it for you.

Right foot first, I caught myself thinking as I made my way outside onto the flagstone landscape. This was one of those things my mother taught me that snuck into my adult life. Shmuli followed me, his eyes squinting from the sun.

Mrs. Willig was already ahead of us and was going on about summer outdoor activities. I sat down on a tan patio chair and stared out onto the lawn. It stretched for a few feet into tall chaste trees and a wide white fence. Marigolds popped out of hedges like small suns. Classic, the flower that symbolizes passion and creativity. How cliché.

I sighed. Everything looked so… pristine. This wasn’t the place for us. Eliana was used to how the inside of our house was always flying, with the laundry spread out over the couch and the playroom toys tsunaming into the kitchen. Even after the older kids got married, they’d still come over with their kids and turn the house upside down.

Eliana always had a ketchup stain on her sweater or some dirt on her nose. She would never fit in here. I gave Shmuli an impatient look. He shot me a look right back: reel in your commentary until she’s finished, Riva. I shrugged.

Besides for the basic getting to know you and tell-me-about-your-daughter-with-special-needs preambles, Shmuli and I barely talked since entering the home. Mrs. Willig did most of the talking, and everything she said sounded like a mission statement.

“Residents in the Klienman Family House will receive constant care from highly trained staff who will assist them with nutrition, activities and socialization,” she said as we looked around. Shmuli pointed to a room where a young woman in a pink sweater was helping a middle-aged woman with Down syndrome to shape and twist clay to form a cup.

It reminded me of the time years ago that Ayelet and I went to a pottery place one Chol Hamoed and took Eliana with us. She broke three porcelain plates and a glass mug after we didn’t allow her to paint a turtle bowl that was out of our price range. Her temper tantrum got us booted from the store. Girls from Ayelet’s grade watched us leave and Ayelet put up her hood to hide her face. I barely got Eliana into the car before collapsing from sheer exhaustion. And that was before everything got worse.

“On Sundays, we have volunteers come to play music and do exercise,” Mrs. Willig told us. “We do a lot of stretching here and the clients love it.” Eliana would not. She becomes a mountain whenever the family tries to get her to exercise. A mountain might be easier to push.

Mrs. Willig half-turned, a slight smile flickering across her face. She was the type of woman who wore pearls on a Tuesday. “Would you want to stay for lunch? You can talk with the staff if you’d like and get to see how our residents interact.” Shmuli was excited by the idea. Of course he was. As we walked, he kept asking Mrs. Willig questions. I remained silent. We followed her into the dining area where three or four women with special needs and two staff members were sitting around a table. Mrs. Willig made note of the menu choices — low-sodium, lots of vegetables — before excusing herself for a quick phone call. This was my chance.

I waited until she’d stepped out, then pounced. I leaned in close to Shmuli and drew my voice into an audible whisper. “You can’t be serious,” I hissed at him. “This isn’t the place for Eliana, she hates being told what to do. Look at all the staff.  They look so young. Eliana would never listen to them, and they would never understand her because her speech is so unclear.”

I folded my arms. “And this place is too clean.”

“Too clean?”

“Yup.”

“Uh-huh.” Shmuli stroked his chin. “And it must be because you’ve spoken to the staff directly and watched them in action that you’re able to make such an assessment.

“I’ve seen enough to make up my mind, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Actually, Rivs, your eyes were rolled so far back this entire tour I’m surprised you saw anything.” Shmuli’s voice was tight. Oh good, he’d finally caught on.

“I don’t like it here.”

“You weren’t going to like it here regardless of what they show you, Riva, you made that perfectly clear.” Shmuli’s voice was raised, a rarity for him.

I was about to defend myself, but then I saw her. She shared all the distinct features of my Eliana, those slanted almond eyes and plump lips — and she was looking right at us, frightened, the way my own kids looked whenever Shmuli and I argued in front of them.

We fidgeted in our seats as she stared, embarrassed and unsure of what to say. “I’m so sorry,” one of the staff members came and pulled her arms around the woman. She was wearing a blue shirt with a nametag that read BAYLA. “Shifra just wanted to come over and say hi. She loves meeting new people, we’re sorry if we’ve interrupted anything.”

I stared at Shifra. Her eyes were wide with fear. When I saw Eliana for the first time, the doctors had prepped me before I was allowed to hold her, worried that I’d be shocked by her appearance. But when I held her all I could do was stare at her bright eyes and flattened nose. I’ll do whatever I can to keep you safe, I’d promised her silently.

Somewhere, Shifra had a mother who felt the exact same way — and I had just sparked fear in her daughter.

“Please don’t apologize. My husband and I love meeting new people, too. How old are you, Shifra?”

“Thirty-two,” Shifra drawled.

“Oh, wow, I have a daughter around that age too.”

“Shifra’s birthday is coming up! We’re going to have a big birthday party for you, right, Shif?” Bayla smiled at us. “You should come and bring your daughter, too, we’d love to meet her!”

“Sounds awesome,” I said vaguely.

Shifra and Bayla moved on. Shmuli waited until they were sitting again before picking up where we’d left off.

“Riva, we knew this day would come, you can’t just shut it down. This place is incredible, even you’ve gotta admit it. Look at how caring they are. You can see that Bayla really loves Shifra. I’m so impressed.”

“Trust me, this place isn’t for Eliana. You’re not seeing it through a mother’s eyes.”

“I may not see what’s in your eyes, but I hear something else in your voice. Are you going to tell me what’s really going on?”

I tried to reply, but my voice cracked, and my eyes blurred.

“Do you want to discuss this somewhere else?” Shmuli asked softly.

I nodded, brushing away tears.

When we got to the car it was raining, and the orthopedic sneakers my kids had dubbed my “bubby shoes” were coated in mud.

“Rivs,” Shmuli began, “we made this decision with the help of daas Torah. We spent more time looking into this home than anyone our kids dated. Look at the facts: We’re getting older, and we won’t be able to take care of Eliana for much longer. It took you two hours to get Eliana into the shower last night, and you collapsed as soon as she went to bed. It’s only going to get worse. I wish there was an alternative. But the truth is that at one point or another, all kids have to leave the nest.”

“Don’t compare Eliana to our other children.”

“Why not? She means as much to me as they do. I don’t look at her any differently. She’s an adult, and we’re getting old. What’s going to happen when we can’t fend for ourselves, where’s she going to go? Don’t we only want what’s best for our children?”

Shmuli looked up at me and smiled. “And on the upside, I’m sure that our kids will be delighted to know that now, when they get a bouquet from you, they’re going to have to pay.”

I sucked in my cheeks to cool down the anger rising inside me like lava. “How can you say that? How can you compare Eliana to a bouquet? I watch her the whole day, I clean all her messes, I shower her at night, I read to her, I make sure the fridge is locked so that she can’t get in, I make sure she takes her medicine, I fall asleep with her every night. They might like her here, they may even dote on her, but they will never love her like I do.”

I wiped away a tear. “How could you just think that as soon as Eliana leaves me, I’ll feel this… relief? How can you call this an upside, Shmuli? There is no upside to this.”

Shmuli let me cry, my shoulders shaking. But he stayed composed. “Riva, I know you. You would do anything for your kids. If you could, you would daven for an extra arm in Shema Koleinu.”

“So, I’m full of virtues. Sue me.”

“The thing is… what I’m trying to say is… you remember what we got Eliana for her seventh birthday?”

“I don’t remember,” I muttered, unsure of where this was headed.

“Plastic stars, the kind that glow in the dark. I hung them up on the ceiling around her bed. She loved them in the beginning, she got so excited. You remember them, right?”

I nodded.

“After a while she told me to take them off. She got tired of them and most of them were peeling off anyways.”

“What’s your point?” I asked impatiently.

“My point is, Rivs, that you can give your child the stars and it still might not be enough.” Shmuli paused and then opened the car door. “I’m going back inside to find Mrs. Willig for the rest of the tour.” He threw me the keys. “It’s your choice if you want to stay in the car or not.”

I thought for a second, wiped my eyes, then opened my door, too. “We do this together.” I told him. “Like we do everything.” Once we entered the building, I nodded at Shmuli. “Go ahead,” I told him. “I’ll catch up.”

He nodded and went to find Mrs. Willig. I had my own agenda.

I found Bayla sitting at the table, watching as Shifra beaded a necklace. Pretty.  I tapped Bayla on the shoulder. “Excuse me,” I said, “I have a few questions for you.”

“Are you sure that you’re cool with this, Mommy?” Dina twisted an unraveled strand of her snood.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Dina and Ayelet shot each other knowing looks.

“I dunno, you’re kind of a micro-manage-mommy. When Ezzy and I first got married I didn’t know how to cook for the first year because you kept sending over food. And when the kids were born, I barely ever held them or changed their diaper if you were around, you never let me,” Ayelet said frankly.

“This is different,” I paused, searching for the right words. “I know that I’m doing what’s best for my child. And she’ll be home every Shabbos. You know, they’re always open to visitors.” I coughed.

Ayelet laughed and made room on the couch for Ezzy. “Of course we’re going to visit Eliana! Right, Ez?” She winked at her husband. “Just hope they don’t throw the kids out!”

“Where are the kids?” Davidi asked from Dina’s side.

We pointed to the playroom. The kids were sitting in a group reading, leaning on Eliana like she was a radiator. Eliana was playing with the pin toy Ayelet bought her for Chanukah, pressing her face and fingers against it so that they left an impression on the mold. Huvi was crawling on top of her, hanging from her shoulders. Huvi was the only one making noise, but she made up for all the rest.

I cast a glance at Shmuli. His feet were on the ottoman, and he was nearly dozing. I noticed for the first time the folds crossing his face, and how I could count the brown hairs on his head, as opposed to the grey ones. I saw the sunspots, and the wrinkles. Did he see them in me too?

When Ayelet and Davidi left I cleaned up the playroom. I forced Eliana into the shower, gave her medication, then helped her put on her pajamas. Time has made Eliana sluggish and the weight she’s gained has only made things harder.

But every night I wait for her. We lay in bed, and I shut the lights. No words. No stars. No light. Just a daughter and her mother.

Maybe I should look into that course on wedding bouquets. I made Dina and Ayelet’s and they came out so lovely and got so many compliments. Maybe I can finally turn my passions into a job.

Then I shook my head to shove that thought deep down. I used to obsessively think about what I’d do if I had free time and Eliana was out of the house like Ayelet and Davidi. The thought always used to frighten me. It felt unfaithful, because I had no clue who I was without Eliana.

I wrap my arms around my daughter, holding on for dear life, shielding us both from all unpleasant truths. And the truth is that maybe sending Eliana to a home scared me not because of how she would feel, but because I’d be giving up a role that is my whole existence. I knew Eliana belongs to me, but I also belonged to Eliana. Without her, who am I?

Who am I? Who am I? The question hangs above me like plastic stars.

I walk Eliana into the Klienman House, her hand held tightly in mine.  Mrs. Willig follows us, holding my gift of potted yellow roses; she told me that she’ll put them in the front, right by the glass doors, as I recommended. It gives me comfort to know that the flower that evokes warmth and welcome will be right outside of Eliana’s door, right where her mother left them.

I stared straight ahead, trying to blink back the tears. The long empty days ahead worry me, but I’m hoping that the floral design certification program I’ve signed up for will help fill some of the time. It’s a long-awaited dream, but it doesn’t fill me. And that’s okay. I’m so much more.

I’m Shmuli’s wife. I am Ayelet, Davidi’s, and Eliana’s mother. I do all I can for my children. This is what’s meant for Eliana, even if it’s not what I would have chosen. She’ll be okay. As will I.

The last thing I see before we turn home is Eliana walking into the Klienman Family House, right foot first.

That’s my girl.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 767)