Sometimes the only thing we need to do is show up
A
fter we graduated high school as the two top girls in the class, you and I were flying high, between our cute outfits, having fun with makeup, and feeling very adultlike as we figured out our own schedules. We both had prestigious jobs, enjoyed our stellar shidduchim prospects (young, with personality, and straight A’s, and what we believed were deeply developed hashkafos and middos), and had our perfect lives and families planned out.
And the plan went through, or so we believed. We both got engaged, got married, and became mothers. We still talked over the phone, though not as often as we would’ve liked. We schmoozed about dinners and cleaning and schedules and work and how to balance it all.
When we spoke two days ago, you relayed your little one’s latest comments, and I heard your happy background noise.
Then, last night, you called again. And you were crying, sobbing. I couldn’t imagine what had happened. Your kids? Someone got hurt?
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