Dear Aunt Judy,
I know it has been a while since we’ve spoken, but hearing your voice on my voicemail yesterday just enveloped me in warmth and comfort. It’s as if you innately know when the acts of turpitude and depravity that have been inflicted upon me become harrowing and unendurable. You are a paragon of virtue, grace, and compassion, and, most pronouncedly, you are my lifeline.
I’m sitting here crying happy tears because The View just named Ana Navarro as a permanent host. Immigrating to the United States from Nicaragua when she was only 8, she is a hero for so many without a voice. She and I do not belong to the same political party, but we commonly share an open mind and an impassioned concern for the issues that are destroying our democracy. She, too, has stared hatred in the face, though her hatred wasn’t familial.
While writing this, a news blurb just popped up which said that Brittney Griner has been sentenced to 9 years in a Russian prison. My tears are now tears of sadness, of anger, of fear. Nothing more than a political pawn, at the hands of a madman she will continue to be trapped and locked in a cage. I know all too well what that’s like.
I’m not sure if you know this, but when my divorce first began and Jay premiered his matinee, Driving Marla Mad, he insisted that Rebecca go on Birthright. Rebecca was so apprehensive, as she didn’t know anybody else going on the trip. Normally social and gregarious, it was obvious that she was having some weighty doubts. Her parents were beginning what would clearly prove to be a contemptuous divorce, and she would be going to the Holy Land alone. But, to her father, everything was about the Holy Land and Judaism, so not going on Birthright wasn’t really an option.
Dropping her off at the airport was scary, as this helicopter mom saw firsthand that the kids going on the trip already knew each other. I could feel Rebecca’s trepidation, and I told her that she didn’t have to go. Jay, as always, scolded me for my mollycoddling, but, Aunt Judy, I just had such a fretful feeling in my gut. I was right.
A day or two into Birthright, Rebecca went to the hospital. She was rafting down the Jordan River, and her raft flipped over and she hit her head. She was okay, but she wanted to come home. Her father didn’t want her to come home, but I was going to move heaven and earth to get her home. The problem was, however, I was in the middle of a nervous breakdown at the diabolical hands of Nurse Jay Ratched, and I had absolutely no money to get Rebecca a plane ticket home. I had to borrow money from Marissa.
Aunt Judy, the only flight on which I could get Rebecca included a stopover in Russia. Terrified to do this, I knew I had to get her home. Not knowing if she would get back home to me safely was paralysing and petrifying, and who knew if her phone would work in the Russian airport? It was such a leap of faith as I prayed that I put her safety in God’s hands, and my prayers were answered when the mother of a girl who used to babysit for my kids called me to tell me that her daughter, Jessica, saw Rebecca in the Russian airport and took her under her wing. She assured me that Rebecca was safe and that Jessica would get her home safely to me. Thank God, Aunt Judy, Rebecca didn’t become a Brittney Griner.
I was watching my beloved and brilliant Bill Maher the other night, and his first guest was Chris Cuomo. Talking about Chris Cuomo’s new podcast, one knew that it wouldn’t be long until Bill asked Chris about Andrew Cuomo and his shocking and meteoric fall from grace. Chris Cuomo was diplomatic and honest, and when Bill Maher shared his surprise that CNN let Chris go because they said he was helping the former governor, Chris Cuomo’s answer was sterling and authentic. He simply said, “Of course I was helping him. He’s my brother.”
Aunt Judy, I went back and listened to those 9 words over and over and over. “Of course I was helping him. He’s my brother.” How impactful yet foreign these words are to me. I have a sister whose goal was (and probably still is) to see me dead, impoverished, broken, and institutionalised, and here was Chris Cuomo protecting, lauding, and restoring his brother. That’s family.
Aunt Judy, thank you for being my family.
I love you,
Marla