Meir’s condition isn’t a secret — except to his family
For my husband, Meir, a good day is when his temperature is an even 98.3 and he has the strength to go to shul and the office. A good day is when he can fit in a session with his trainer, because he needs to move his joints, and all of his meds are taken on time in the right order. What’s a bad day for Meir? I don’t like to think about it.
Today is an in-between day.
Meir gets up, pulls his sleeves down over the bruises on his arms, and goes to shul. Naftali and Dovid make the bus, but Chanala has a meltdown because her morah said she must have an empty egg carton for school today. Normal people problems.
I scan the crumpled, week-old note from her morah. I have two full cartons of eggs in the fridge and Chanala doesn’t understand why we can’t empty out the raw eggs because she’s desperate — she’s four.
“Let’s call the Goldbrenners,” I say. I’m confident that Mashie Goldbrenner will pick up her phone, and since she makes eggs for breakfast every single day, she likely has an empty carton. I know this because Mashie is my next–door neighbor and therefore my best friend by default.
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