Support Group

My nephews and nieces are now old enough to realize that something is not right. Something is missing. They look at their friends' older siblings, ask my age, and are puzzled. "Lea," they ask, "when are you getting married?"

It is particularly hard on the children who have rarely been to weddings, who want to not only be a part, but a center of them. I remember how it was  by my sister's wedding—I'm important, I'm the sister, this is my party. I don't mind if they feel the same way. That's what kids think at 10.

 

On the evening of my bad date, I sprang out of the car, pleading I had to go in to help my folks with the einiklach who were staying over. He drove off, triumphant, not expecting the inevitable "No" from the shachan, and I felt terrible.

I staggered into the house, where three pairs of young eyes  greeted me at the door, looking expectant. I collapsed, faux-sobbing, on the 8-year-old's neck.

"It's okay," she soothed, stroking my back. "You don't have to see him again."

Bless you, child. Despite her burning desire for wedding festivities, where she can sit up front by the badekin and chuppah, where she can have made-up hair and wear a billowing dress, she will put my needs first, trusting my judgment. 

Her sister thinks I'm being unreasonable, however. "Was he really so bad?" she wheedles.  

"Just pick one," the brother chimes in.

Don't be surprised if I have a favorite, kid.