Returning from two weeks of celebrating and enjoying the euphoria of a grandson’s wedding, I returned to the commemoration, celebration, realization, or whatever it is called, of my Mordechai’s yahrzeit one day later. Three years for some may seem like a long time. I can honestly say that for me, very few things have gotten easier. I come home every day to an empty house. I go to sleep, sometimes reaching over to the other side of the bed trying to feel what used to be his presence, and I practically never sit at my kitchen table because I cannot stand to be there by myself. I’ve learned to grab a yogurt on the run, make myself a coffee, and have yet to figure out the best way to make Havdalah alone. I’ve mastered holding the candle, as I now have one that stands on the table (thanks to my granddaughter), holding the cup, and no longer bother to get our beautiful silver besamim but now substitute cinnamon, which I always have on hand. Kiddush alone, which occurs rarely, is 1-2-3. Our home, which used to be a meeting place for all different types of people and which was always open to all, is now quiet and empty.
The power of silence is overwhelming. No one to talk to. No one to share with. No one to tell a secret to. No one to tell a joke to. No one I can cry to. No one I can tickle. No one who is there during my deepest sadness. No one I can shep nachas with in what we created. No one I can share my worries for the future with. No one who would truly understand my concerns about the Canadian dollar. No one else to understand my loneliness in a community that I did not bring up my children in, did not serve a primary role in, that I never had any close friends in. Yes, it is true, as my children remind me, that I know “everyone.” What they do not realize is that I really do not know anyone, but through my writing people know me.
There is no one to surprise me with a little box on the table, on my bed, on my desk. No one to leave me hidden cards, like the one that recently fell out of one of my cookbooks as I searched for a recipe. No one to tell me I look great. No one to go out for ice cream with at any old time. Never going out to dinner anymore in the evening, which is something we both enjoyed. It is all gone and it is very sad. It is important to note to those who were envious of what we had: You do not realize how much time and effort we put into making our marriage special. There were plenty of times that we faced severe challenges. We had a choice of dealing with them, each in our own way or as one solid front. We chose the latter.
Especially when you begin your life in the rabbinate, you need to know that your partner is your confidante in everything you do. Everyone in the shul is your best friend, but really? We managed to do it well together.
There are those who have little patience to hear about what was. “Moving on” is the mantra of many. Honestly, the fact that I am here today is proof that I am moving on from 57 years of love and devotion. That does not mean it is easy to do. V’hayu l’vaser achad was us. Before we were married my Mordechai bought me a watch which had that saying engraved on the back. You shall be like one. We took it very seriously. That did not mean we did not each think for ourselves, did not have our own ideas, did not pursue different interests, but always with the other one in mind.
Yes, it is difficult for me to forge ahead. Obviously I am doing it. There is not one day that I am not at some point thinking of what my Mordechai would have done in a similar situation. His guidance each day on nitty gritty things which marriages have to deal with has now fallen on my shoulders. Things which I never gave much thought to.
I wish all of you continued years in a relationship such as the one I was fortunate enough to be a part of. As I listened to our grandchildren discuss their memories of their Zaidie and what they learned from him, as we Zoomed together on his yahrzeit, I felt overwhelmed with gratitude in knowing that he will never be forgotten—and I will indeed never stop loving him.
Nina Glick can be reached at [email protected].
