We have known each other for decades, and it has been a privilege, a blessing, a godsend, and a windfall to call you my sister friend. If we carry this over to medical terms, which seems appropriate, you have been my ventilator, my antibiotic, my tourniquet, and my Xanax. I’ve told you before that I am vertical because of you.

When the kids were small and our fledgling friendship began to develop wings of trust and reliance, I shared with you how frightened I was of what Jay was capable of. I knew that he was a Pharisee, respected for his religious knowledge, davening in shul every Shabbat, keeping the rules of the Sabbath and kashrut, but lacking fundamental mercy, love, tolerance, and heart. I wasn’t financially independent, I didn’t have the support of my family, and I lived with the pernicious effects of being married to a narcissist who I truly felt was planning on taking the kids away from me the moment they came out of me.

You know so much about me, probably more than anybody else does. The reasons for this vary, but we’ll start with what I have told you directly. The confidences I’ve revealed, both in active crisis mode and in regular casual chitchat, have unearthed parts of my life about which I am traumatized, ashamed, broken. We’ll continue with the DORs (days of rescue) that you have seen with your own incredulous and kind eyeballs, when you have raced to figuratively resuscitate me after the emotional depravity of their actions. The dozens of Explanation of Benefits forms where I saw CT Scans and Ultrasounds for Marissa and Zack, not knowing if they were okay or not. And, adding acid to my already inflamed heart, Jay told them I took them off of my health insurance. NOTHING, obviously, could have been further from the truth.

How about my finding out that I became a grandmother, many times over? I found out in the most unusual ways – a nosy friend, a bill from a hospital, a synagogue bulletin, and my mother’s obituary. And, speaking of my mother’s obituary, nobody told me that my mother died. A lifelong family friend told me days later, because they forbid her to tell me when it happened. I was actually at your house when that call came in.

And, let’s talk about what you know from Rebecca, or at least what she told you, when she approached you to tell you all of the “abhorrent” things I’ve done. I guess she wanted you, my most trusted lifeline, to abandon me as well. You told her that even if all of the things she said were true, and that you didn’t believe very many of them, it still wouldn’t justify them treating me the way they were and cutting me out of their lives. You knew me. You knew that everything I feared for decades was coming true. You knew that being a mom, being THEIR mom, was my most profound joy, accomplishment, purpose.

But, my sister friend, when you say I am hard to read, you are so correct. And, I apologize to you for that. I also have a reason for it, and the reason is that I’m never telling the truth. I’m not okay, and when I say I am, I am not. How could I be? This has been a suffocating, excruciating, lacerating, harrowing, unendurable, inhumane, and torturous journey, and I am so afraid to show my real pain. I’m so afraid of disappointing those who remain and love me (like you), those who need me (like my students), and, weirdly enough, I’m afraid of disappointing myself. I have hung in for so long, making those around me feel safe, supported, valued, and entertained, and sometimes the load is just so heavy.

But, please know, however, that I’m still planning on carrying this load for quite a bit longer. I’m going to stay in this classroom, on the tennis court, at the casino, aboard the Cunard ships, and I am going to keep Jay’s dream from coming true for as long as I can. With that being said, should anything happen to me, maybe you couldn’t read me, but I know you sure did love me.

Forever grateful to YOU, my sister friend.