Category: Grace and Kindness

November Numbness

November 27, 2019

A Mom Without Her Kids, Abandonment, Broken Heart, Forgiveness, Grace and Kindness, Healing, Parental Alienation, Thanksgiving, Tragic Divorce, Ulcerative Colitis

My time machine is getting all revved up to travel back in time 30 years, and I’m not sure if I’ll be better or worse for the journey.

Marissa turns 30 today, and even seeing the number in print feels somewhat surreal. Both pregnant with her and delivering her at 23, I was a young mom whose life and purpose began at 7:21 a.m. exactly three decades ago.

I’m not going to dwell or perseverate on my loss; instead I will say that, albeit for too short a time, my 24 years with Marissa brought me more joy than some people get in a lifetime. Her illuminating smile, her fastidious work ethic, her subtle and gentle way of getting what she wanted, and her unwavering strength and tenacity during an unrelenting illness have permanently earned her a secure place on the Supergirl mantle.

I’m still numb from the trauma of losing her, and I pray that she is happy and healthy. Perhaps she’s a mom herself now, and, if so, I hope she might pause and think of me. Though her dad has rewritten history, may she revisit reality and remember who I was. Most of all, however, may she feel my love and know that, no matter what has transpired, that love will always be hers.

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Gathering

October 29, 2019

A Mom Without Her Kids, Abandonment, Broken Heart, Forgiveness, Grace and Kindness, Healing, Parental Alienation, Tragic Divorce

The word gathering offers multiple uses, with the root of them all involving some sort of meeting or assembly. Whether talking about a family celebration or simply a disciplined collection of thoughts, a gathering is the literal or figurative place where “stuff” happens.

I learned last night from a dear friend that my mother was diagnosed with Chronic Leukemia. Some internet searching told me that, while not ideal or glamorous, one can live quite a while with the disease and even be asymptomatic. May my mother be one of those people.

My mother has lived a full life. She has seen and experienced joy that I will never see. From the moment my oldest, her first grandchild, arrived just about 30 years ago, my mother rejoiced in all of the magic that comes with being a grandmother. An active and welcomed participant in my kids’ lives, my mother’s favorite role was grandma to my 3 kids and my sister’s 2 kids. The Fab Five were flawless in her eyes.

My ex-husband and my mother didn’t always see eye to eye, and Jay’s happiest moments were when he could slam me in front of my mother and my sister. Their dismay at his not-so-subtle verbal abuse caused significant problems for me, as more than once I would have to beg him to agree to see them again. His narcissism was only exceeded by my pathos.

Now, they all break bread together, without me.

I was hoping that once I got divorced I would get to spend lots of time with my mom. She and I shared a similar sense of humor and a matching energy. Whereas my sister was always hard on my mom, I was the one offering her endless mulligans. After all, she was my mom, and, in my book, that comes with unconditional love.

Make no mistake about it – Barbara Starsky was flawed and could often be selfish. But, this Elizabeth Taylor lookalike could also be so fiercely charming and generous. Brilliant beyond description and comprehension, she, like I, spent her life camouflaging her demons. To this day, neither of us fully knows the other’s story.

My mother has seen college graduations of her grandchildren, weddings of her grandchildren, and the birth of at least one great-grandchild. Her life, which will hopefully continue for a decade or longer, has rewarded her with countless blessings. I’m only sorry she didn’t consider me one of those blessings.

I wish my mother well and Godspeed as she faces this challenge.

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That Damn High Road

October 7, 2019

A Mom Without Her Kids, Abandonment, Broken Heart, Forgiveness, Grace and Kindness, Healing, Parental Alienation, Shana Tova, Tragic Divorce

It’s Sunday, and this was supposed to be a Marla Tells All. I was supposed to cleanse my soul, throw all caution to the wind, seek validation, expose my ex-husband, and share every mile of my paralyzing journey. Pages of cathartic and disturbing revelations now just sit, while my residence on the High Road seems like permanent housing.

A night with my girlfriends is guaranteed laughs, tears, and therapy. We vent, we confide, we tease, and they share about their beautiful children. I love hearing about the accomplishments and relationships of their peanuts, and they know that, more than anything, I wish that I, too, could share about mine. Recognizing my raw wounds, they offer advice when I look like my proverbial Mah Jongg tiles are coming off of the rack.

Our recent gathering was a smorgasbord of love, lox, and deep discussion, and my proposed, purging blog entry came up. It was just about unanimous that I should keep going high as they continue to go low, citing that those who know me have witnessed firsthand the backstory and the emotion behind my written words. Those who know me and who have stayed aboard the S.S. Gaslight are not jumping off of it. I’ve certainly reached a ten-lifetime quota of abandonment, but I can extract peace from the loyalists who remain.

I’m waiting for a call telling me that my MRI and MRA have been scheduled. The facial numbness remains and is both off-putting and terrifying. I told a dear friend that I’m not ready for further testing of my strength, so this lady who has lost her faith needs to find some ASAP. Perhaps the High Road is the right place to look.

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Shana Tova

September 30, 2019

A Mom Without Her Kids, Abandonment, Broken Heart, Crohn’s disease, Dr. Philip Bruder, Forgiveness, Grace and Kindness, Healing, Parental Alienation, Practice What We Preach, Rosh Hashanah, Shana Tova, Telogen Effluvium, Tragic Divorce, Ulcerative Colitis, You Can’t Make This Shit Up

As I sit here and prepare my Yom Kippur blog, I am preparing you for a cleansing of my soul. For too long now, I have remained quiet, and I have gone high when they have gone low. I have feared the worst, but I now realize that I have lived the worst. In losing my children, I have experienced a mother’s greatest nightmare. With that being said, I am still here to tell the story. That story will be released this coming Sunday.

Just to keep you updated on my health from the last blog, I am thrilled to report that, just as Dr. Phil Bruder said, my hair is growing back. I am no longer shedding, and, while the Rogaine is requiring me to visit my aesthetician weekly, it is working along with my natural regrowth in bringing back my hair. I am so grateful to Dr. Bruder for assuaging my concerns like nobody else could.

A week ago Friday, as I was putting on my make-up and rejoicing that my follicular situation was improving, I noticed that I was numb in my lower left side of my lip, my left side of my tongue, and my left eyebrow. Catapulting back to my three C-sections and smiling at the numb tugging I experienced as they pulled my delicious Beanie Babies out, this numbness resonated. “What could possibly be happening now?” I inquired of my trusted confidantes. “Could this be part of the gift that keeps on giving, meaning my daughter’s father-in-law who twice dropped those drill bits down my jaw when he was performing root canals on me?” (This will be a part of Sunday’s cleansing).

A visit to my current and capable dentist told me that my teeth seemed okay, all things considered, but that my symptoms mimicked a problem stemming from the trigeminal nerve. She, quite out of character for her, told me that people kill themselves from the pain of trigeminal neuralgia, so she was hoping it wasn’t this. She agreed with a dear friend of mine that I should see my ENT, as my two invasive sinus surgeries have rendered me completely into permanent sinus inflammation, pain, and nerve pressure. Perhaps this is indeed the case, or, pardon my French, perhaps I haven’t been fucked with enough. Perhaps this is a brain tumor, MS, or the beginnings of this suicidal neuralgia.

This Wednesday, October 2nd, which is the birthday of my Daddy (of blessed memory), I will, yet again, be taking a day off from work. I will start the day at my ENT, continue on to my Primary Care Physician, and dance from there to a neurologist. Yes, neurologist, which, after oncologist, is probably the doctor people fear the most. I will hold my head high, as the warrior and not the victim, and I will pray that I will indeed be inscribed in The Book of Life for another year.

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Protected: Realizations

A Mom Without Her Kids, Abandonment, Broken Heart, Forgiveness, Grace and Kindness, Healing, Parental Alienation, Telogen Effluvium, Tragic Divorce

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Letter to My Former Boss

July 23, 2019

Abandonment, Broken Heart, Forgiveness, Grace and Kindness, Healing, Parental Alienation, Tragic Divorce, You Can’t Make This Shit Up

People are not disposable to me, and the following letter to my former boss proves just that. I am not allowed to send it, which I understand, but I just needed to write it.

Paul,

When we gathered in the library two Fridays ago for an emergency meeting, I linked arms so tightly with Kelly. Steve had summoned us there, and your absence was so palpable. Fearing the worst, we braced ourselves for the shock of hearing that another heart attack had claimed a person we loved so dearly.

Boy, did we get that one wrong! What we heard left us shaken to the core and feeling like one of us just might perish from a myocardial infarction. And, we didn’t even know the real punchline to what we deemed some sort of surreal “joke” at that point.

I have to tell you that never in a million years would I have thought your arrest would arrive this way. Getting in a bar fight, driving under the influence, even doing the dirty with a mommy or a staff member were quite plausible possibilities with you, and there would be nary a flinch from most of us if one of those scenarios came to fruition. After all, you lived life on the edge, and we loved you for it. But, the story that was exposed was so vile, so heinous, so unexpected, and so out of character that so many of us still can’t wrap our heads around it.

Social media is destructive; you told the kids that all the time. You would sit them down and drill through them that what one does on social media can cause lifetime damage. You spoke of sharing with your own kids that they should be hyper-vigilant about posting anything that could be even slightly questionable, even mentioning that Snapchat posts do not disappear after 10 seconds. You would hold assemblies where you would rage with frustration that you had spent the entire day with Seth and with cops, immersed in HIB investigations resulting from cyber-harassment. Pardon my French, but what the hell?

You are everywhere. Somebody sent an email out the other day after finding a pair of Foster Grants reading glasses, and I imagined you answering that email with the old slogan, “Isn’t that you behind those Foster Grants?” When I’m driving and one of Pink’s songs plays, my mind goes to you and to your crush on her. Last week was the Advisory Day Senior Prom, and I just kept thinking about the number of marriage proposals you missed out on from the female octogenarians, who, like us, found you so charming.

Walking into the building and seeing your once vibrant office devoid of even the slightest shrapnel of you is downright eerie. Such a powerful presence for so long, now just a door without a nameplate. Stories spin in our heads as we try to make sense of what will happen to you, to us, to the people of Denville, and, most importantly, to the thousands of children who revered you and who will now forever question even what seems certain to them.

Personally, you were my rock, my friend, and my vault. You were one of the five who knew my story and my pain, and you provided me with a sanctuary. For 7 hours each day, my classroom allowed me to be 100% in the now, with no time to visit my tragic past. I would tell the kids that they were, like Alanis Morrissette sang, “the best platform from which to jump beyond myself.” Paul, your laissez-faire approach to administrating made me a better teacher, and it was a win-win for both of us. You left me alone, and, without sounding egomaniacal, I was able to shine at what I did. God, I miss you.

Valleyview will survive and move forward. Seth will continue to steer the ship, and we’ll all be his first mates and stay afloat. It will take a while, but this story will be replaced by another shocker. That’s how life goes. What will remain, however, are the questions surrounding your hidden heartbreak that led you to a very dark place. May you get the help you need, because so many of us know that it wasn’t our Paul who behaved so irresponsibly, dangerously, and narcissistically. It was somebody who was determined to hit rock bottom, aided by the heavy anchor of a complicated and disturbing past.

God bless you, my friend.

Marla

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My Rebecca

May 5, 2019

A Mom Without Her Kids, Abandonment, Broken Heart, Forgiveness, Grace and Kindness, Healing, My Mishamooey, Parental Alienation, Tragic Divorce

I woke up about 5:30 this morning, which is late for a work day but early for a weekend. Though my practical mind was telling me to stay up and finish my SGO, PDP, Domain 4, and PD Log, my lazy self was promoting just a few more minutes of shuteye. It is typically during these “just a few more minutes” moments when the nightmares occur, so I really did combat my lazy self when she told me to go back to sleep.

My Rebecca, also known as my Mishamooey, was in my dream this morning, and she was resting on me. My arm was lovingly around her, as it so often was when she was in my life. There had certainly been palpable tension amongst the various ensemble characters in my dream, but for five or so magical minutes, my Rebecca surrendered and let me love her. I was actually crying when I woke up.

It is Rebecca who is a mini-me in personality. Though she looks just like Jay, her joie de vivre and creative wit mimic mine. Unfortunately, I think that she, too, shares two faces – the animated face for the general world and the injured one for her own mirror. While I am certain that her demons have been blamed on me and the “mental illness” with which they have all diagnosed me, I can’t help but think of Jay’s maternal grandmother and her life in an institution. I’m also reminded of Jay’s youngest brother, who, on Passover, tried to kill himself by slitting his throat at his wife’s cousin’s house. Boy, were they able to answer the question, “Why is this night different from all other nights?”

Today, Trump is rallying his supporters with a new mind fuck. His current mantra is “Investigate the investigators,” which is, yet again, what sociopaths do. Taking his abhorrent and psychotic behavior and projecting it onto the good guys is dangerous and destructive, and he does it so seamlessly. He’s the master of “gaslighting,” a term I learned when my dad, years into his Alzheimer’s, warned me that Jay was doing to me.

For now though, I will think of my dream and of my Rebecca. I will smile as I think of my little Mishamooey in her favorite crab outfit, the one with the turquoise top and spandex pants. I will cherish the memories of my Beckles with her bottle hanging out of her mouth, wearing only tights and her guitar. I will laugh at my Boo pretending to be Taylor Swift and singing into her hairbrush, and I will stare at her prom pictures, in shock that somebody could be that beautiful. Most importantly, I will pray that she is well and happy, pregnant if she wants to be, and that maybe one day I’ll actually be able to hug her for real.

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Four Years

April 14, 2019

A Mom Without Her Kids, Abandonment, Broken Heart, Forgiveness, Grace and Kindness, Healing, Parental Alienation, Passover, Tragic Divorce

Zachary left me four years ago today, and I’ll never understand why he didn’t show up at my house for the second night of Passover. I have his message from the night before, telling me he was jealous that I was heading to the Billy Joel concert and that he couldn’t wait to see me the following evening. I never heard from him, and he never showed.

It’s getting harder for me to deal with my “tragedy;” the more time that passes just hurls more reminders at me. Tonight was going to be an Olive Garden night, but all I hear in my head is Rebecca, with her way of making everything funny, saying the name “Gardin de Oleeve.” She would get so excited when she could get her Chicken Scampi, and I just miss her so much. I miss them all so much.

My mother has been writing me one sentence emails lately. Today she wished me a good vacation and sent me all her love. She thinks that makes up for the ostracism, abandonment, humiliation, and not loving me. I was going to send her what I’ve posted below, but instead I just wrote, “Happy Passover.”

Mom,

My vacation begins on the 19th.

There is no therapist, medicine, partner, or salute to my strength that can take away my pain of not having my children in my life. Reminders are everywhere, from the Humira commercials to the Uncrustables in the supermarket to the children on the streets saying any version of my favorite word – Ma, Mama, Mom, or Mommy. Against your guidance, my entire identity was wrapped up in being a mom, and I did a darn good job at it (regardless of whatever fabrications have been told and altered to support this ostracism).

There is also no ersatz message of love from you that can make up for the fact that you break bread with my ex-husband, a man who sought and still seeks to destroy me. You made the choice you did, deciding to be a part of Lisa’s story. Sadly, the moment I came into this world began Lisa’s unhealthy fear that I would infringe on her value and her due, and we never really connected as siblings should. For that reason, I encouraged my children to be a team and to always stick together.

I’ve reached out to you over the past months and years because I love you and I wanted to believe that you loved me. I actually needed you to explain to me how your Sophie’s choice was so effortless. I miss all of my children so completely, and my love for them was always and still is unconditional. And, I’d give my eyeballs for one of them to write me an honest note like this and end it with, “I love you, Mommy.”

Wishing you a happy and enlightening Passover with your growing family.

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A February I Would Like to Forget

March 25, 2019

Grace and Kindness

The flu was going around my school in February, and many were down for the count, including me. A 104.4 degree temperature had me at the doctor, where I tested positive for Type A and Type B flu. My cough was constant, as was my general feeling of malaise.

I wasn’t getting better, even with Tamiflu, and I went back to the doctor. Turns out I had a side of pneumonia with my double flu, so antibiotic, steroids, and an inhaler were prescribed. Missing almost 2 weeks of school, I was miserable.

On February 28th, a day that has never been a lucky day for my family, I received a lengthy Explanation of Benefits for Zachary. There were sheets of doctor visits, and the progression of the entries left me paralyzed with worry. From the many physician appointments, another CT Scan of his breast, bloodwork (including pathology and toxicology), and a procedure/surgery, my mind went to a dark and terrifying place. I just prayed and prayed that my son would be okay, highlighting that his health was all that mattered and that even if it meant I would never be in his life, I only wanted him to be healthy.

This past Thursday, Jay wrote me a lengthy note in which he shared that Zachary was having trouble with the insurance company. He told me that he knows that Zack’s health is of the utmost importance to me, and that Zack had been to many doctors, along with the Emergency Room, for headaches and fatigue. What Jay didn’t mention was the CT Scan of the breast or anything about Zack’s health throughout the 4 years since Zack walked out of my life. Per our divorce agreement, Zack was supposed to keep me informed. After all, I held up my end of the agreement and kept Zack insured.

It turns out that Zachary had Epstein-Barr and another virus that was similar to herpes. Relieved doesn’t come close to describing how I felt, as I had been thinking the worst since February 28th. I’m not sure why he had the CT Scan of his breast; I’ll assume all was okay with that, just as I had to do with the CT Scan he had three years ago.

Jay’s note explained that Horizon needed to know (from the primary insurance holder) if Zack or I had any other insurance. Apparently, the doctors were telling Zachary that the claims weren’t paid, as the Coordination of Benefits needed to be updated. Jay told me that obviously I would need to call, and he wrote that he and Zack really appreciate my taking care of this.

It baffles me why my 25-year-old son couldn’t reach out to me himself. Zack and I were so close, and, per a colleague at school, “I don’t think any mom ever loved her son more.” Jay reached out, but it wasn’t to inform me. It was merely because he needed something from me. The thought that he would have to pay those balances was terrifying to him, and I’m sure that he told all of the family that he wrote me such a gracious letter as he continued to keep me updated on Zachary’s health. That’s what sociopaths do. They lie, they manipulate, and they project.

I made the phone call. The claims are being adjusted.

The father of one of the Sandy Hook children committed suicide today. They say you never really get over the loss of a child. How about the loss of three?

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Letter to my former rabbi on New Year’s Eve

December 31, 2018

A Mom Without Her Kids, Abandonment, Broken Heart, Forgiveness, Grace and Kindness, Healing, Parental Alienation, Practice What We Preach, Seeking Advice from a rabbi, Tragic Divorce, You Can’t Make This Shit Up

Dear Rabbi Fellner,

I hope this note finds you and Judy well, and I’m wishing the both of you, along with Michelle and her family, the happiest and healthiest 2019.

Rabbi, as you know, the grapevine in Livingston is interminable and unforgiving. You
might have heard the news that Jay and I went through a vicious and tragic divorce several years back, and I lost all that ever mattered to me – my children (my adult children). I’ve been living in the 11th circle of Dante’s Inferno, the one reserved for moms who gave their all and devoted their lives to their children, only to wind up humiliated, ostracized, and abandoned. This circle is for the moms who changed their daughter’s ostomy bag, but won’t get to change their grandchild’s diaper. This circle is for the moms who were the cheerleaders and contributors throughout their kids’ educations and relationships, but who never got to see weddings or college and grad school graduations. This circle is for the moms who didn’t have any self-love.

Rabbi, my friends call me the warrior, tell me that I’m the strongest woman they know,
and ask me how I manage to smile all the time. My students tell me that my passion for
teaching and my compassion for them make coming to school a joy. My therapist thanks me for making her feel special. I withdraw when I need to, but I usually show up to life every day, crack a joke or two, and somehow make a difference.

Rabbi, you may recall that I wasn’t the religious one in the Jaffe household. I didn’t grow up with much religion; my interest was, at best, social and cultural. We moved to Livingston because it was a Jewish town and because it was the only place where Jay “allowed” us to live that wouldn’t require my kids to have to go to day school. Our house needed to be in walking distance to shul, and I had to promise to make the synagogue and Judaism the main focus of our world. As long as I abided by these rules, he wouldn’t harm me.

I can remember walking into Temple Beth Shalom twenty-two years ago, and I was awestruck by this erudite man who reminded me of what I imagined Oz to be. His voice was powerful yet soothing, his words were brilliant yet relatable, and his presence was intimidating yet welcoming. He became the reason that, week after week, year after year, I felt connected to a higher power. This man officiated at both my daughter’s Bat Mitzvah and at my dad’s funeral, and, though this man faced his own personal tragedy, he remained stoic and steadfast for all those who needed him. I miss that man dearly, so I’m writing to him.

Rabbi , the entire synagogue turned its back on me once my divorce was underway and
Jay started spewing his hatred towards me. Eighteen years as a member of a synagogue, and not one person cared about me or my side of the story. Jay was soft-spoken, wore a suit, and went to synagogue every Saturday, which was clearly enough for the clergy, the congregation, and even my comrades to also attach the word Abandoned on this Hester Prynne’s letter A. Believe me, I am not claiming innocence or purity of actions. I do, however, claim that I have never actively and intentionally sought the destruction of another human being. It became Jay’s life’s mission to destroy me, and, with the help of my children, my mother, and my sister, he nearly did.

My Homeric epic has shocked most who know me, and the many Books of my tragedy would prove so heinous and inhumane that you would immediately know I couldn’t make the stories up. Even criminals eventually get pardoned, but I remain jailed in this proverbial prison from which I can’t escape. They and my love for them are everywhere. I am, after all, their mother.

Rabbi, I write to you to ask if we could meet for a cup of coffee. You see, I have no
connection to my religion whatsoever (except, of course, for my Fran Drescher voice and my unyielding adoration of Barney Greengrass Nova). I struggle to understand how disposable I was to my entire family, including my synagogue one. As Jews, we have been persecuted for thousands of years, and we remain incredulous that so many people turned their backs while generations were destroyed. Why then was I persecuted by my own people?

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