I wrote this back in January. I have TWO grandchildren now whom I don’t see. I learned about the second one in my mother’s obituary. Nobody told me my mother died.

January 9, 2021 

Good Morning, and Happy Day One of Marla taking back her life! 

Friends, looking at the number of my age, double nickels as some would say, one can’t help but shudder. It’s a big number, with serious implications. Yes, some of you have already reached this milestone, and you are shining. Unphased by the reality that you can now move into a 55 and over retirement community, you rejoice in the ease and the calm of not only knowing, but owning who you are. 

It has taken me 55 years to know and own who I am. For 55 years, I have been the pleaser, the giver, the buffer, the energy, and the entertainment. I have put everybody else’s needs before my own, fearing that I wouldn’t be loved or accepted if I didn’t. Truth be told, it was so much more serious than that – I was terrified of being abandoned. 

My psychotherapy and my journey to find where my diagnosed fear of abandonment began has been long and painful, and most of you know my story. You have traveled this crooked road with me, living my pain through every EOB, every graduation, every wedding, and now, at least one grandchild. You have picked me up when I have been gutted by learning of a milestone in my children’s lives. Knowing that I didn’t even have a seat in the “simcha” nosebleed section, you so often protected me from literal and figurative collapse. 

I read that Carolyn Bessette Kennedy, the young wife of JFK, Jr., would have turned 55 two days ago, on the 7th, had she not been killed in that fateful airplane crash 22 years ago. My unwavering and sometimes twisted sense of humor propels me (pardon the pun) to say, “Well, I’m certainly better off than she is.” I’m always aware that I’m better off than many. 

This has been a week like no other in Washington, D.C., with a madman president pushing his supporters to attack sacred ground. Encouraging them with toxic vitriol, the 4-year buildup in the dam of venom and hatred finally and tragically overflowed. His seditious rhetoric invoked such physical, emotional, financial, spiritual, and collateral damage in this country, damage from which we will need decades to recover. And, Trump will escape relatively unscathed. 

Folks, today, another president will be conning the masses and escaping unscathed, and he, himself, will be doing it on sacred ground. Mr. Jaffe will deliver his weekly remarks at Temple Beth Shalom in Livingston, and his fans will hang onto his every word. Wearing his suit and his kippah, and speaking in eerily dulcet tones so that everybody has to lean in to hear him, he will rejoice. You see, as today is also Zack’s birthday, Jay knows that, as long as Zack and I are estranged, my birthday can never really be a completely happy one. This, to him, is triumph. And, if one of the 800 congregants, all but one of whom abandoned me, decides to stir the Shabbat stew and mention my birthday, Mr. Jaffe will further his toxic vitriol and probably concoct something along the lines of my running naked into Zachary’s 10th grade English class, with scotch and cigar in hand, screaming, “To pee or not to pee? That is the question.” 

Today, however, I have made the decision to no longer be afraid of Mr. Jaffe or anybody who has tried to take me down. I will not fear my sister’s wrath, when she learns that I asked

the cemetery to fix my father’s tilted and half out-of-the-ground grave. I will not fear the quack dentist who dropped countless drill bits down my mouth and had the Trumpian arrogance to send me a Cease and Desist letter. I will not fear that I will lose my job or remain single the rest of my life because somebody finds out that my children don’t speak with me. I will not fear that my children might get hurt when and if my story gets told. 

Yesterday, my students had to explain the quote, “Death and life are in the power of the tongue.” I’m not sure there is a more appropriate quote for this week’s events, including my birthday. What we say matters, and we need to build people up instead of tear them down. We need to find reasons to love, not to hate. So, with that, I want to thank all of you for pointing your lightsabers of love in my direction and for staying the course and not abandoning me. I love you all dearly. 

Marla

I’m posting a letter I had written about a year ago to my friend, Kelly. This year, I’ll miss seeing TWO grandchildren in Halloween costumes.

My Dearest Kelly, 

Sharing a classroom with you is truly one of my life’s privileges. How often does one get to see her confidante, her stability, her “sister,” and her sounding board first thing in the morning? Who else gets to eat lunch with her bestie and talk about everything from school to societal injustice to sex? Who else has the peace of mind to know that the person sitting right across from her knows every shrapnel of her pain, and can actually sense when it’s piercing through to the surface? What other chubby chick gets to end her school day by telling her person that she loves her? 

Today is Monday, November 2nd, 2020, and it’s so relevant for so many reasons. First, this past weekend was Halloween, and it was so difficult for me. Obviously, not being able to see my granddaughter in her first costume was distressing, and it catapulted me back to when my own kids were young. You see, Kels, I had to sell my soul for them to be allowed to partake in any Halloween events. Jay would say that it was a Catholic holiday, and he wanted the kids to stay home from school so they wouldn’t participate in the Halloween parade. Every year, as October 31st approached, the same discussion ensued at 22 Thurston Drive, and he fought me tooth and nail over it. Zapping any excitement surrounding the day, he’d ultimately acquiesce and let the kids participate, but the price I would have to pay was hefty. It would usually involve something with religion, like “don’t you dare ask me if the kids can skip Shabbat dinner or synagogue even once for an entire month.” Oh, Kels, the “don’t you dares” were so constant, so deliberate, so whispered. 

Today is also the day before Election Day, and our whole democracy is on the verge of extinction. The hateful rhetoric, the palpable lies, the twisted reality, the agonizing xenophobia, and the harrowing gaslighting seem to permeate the literal and figurative highways of this once powerful country. I’m actually afraid, afraid for so many of us. I’m afraid for myself, as a Jewish woman in her mid 50s. I’m afraid for you, with your Lupus. I’m afraid for Sam, wanting him to be able to love whom he chooses. I’m afraid for all parents of children with darker skin, with pre-existing conditions, and with learning disabilities. 

I lived with Donald Trump, Kel, and the ending isn’t pretty. He gets what he wants. He stops at nothing to destroy anybody who challenges him or whom he deems a threat. A master of manipulation, he turns “trying to run a bus off the road” into “they were just being escorts.” He turns a mother’s blog, sharing her daughter’s medical updates, into a violation of the daughter’s privacy, even when the daughter wrote the blog with the mother. He uses religion to falsify, justify, and empower, and he’ll stare you straight in the eye and tell you that the words he said five minutes ago came out of your mouth. And, the scariest part is, you’ll actually believe him. 

May tomorrow be a new beginning for all of us, may kindness prevail, and may people finally see through the transparency (pardon the pun). I love you so dearly. 

Marla