ASSISTED LIVING

She hasn’t been out of the house in four weeks. I’ve run out of ideas to ease her sadness. Lily’s days are spent staring out the window, looking at her wedding pictures, going over and over Bernie’s clothes still hanging neatly in his half of the closet. I’ve seen her caress a sleeve, smell the fabric, try on a sweater. Meals are picked at. Since Bernie passed this severe melancholia has possessed my darling sister. She’s lost weight. Her face is gaunt, her gray eyes grayer, bleary.

Carl and I sleep fitfully. Her bed creaks as she turns over and over and back again. My efforts to get her to a therapist enrage her. Just the other day, in front of Lily, Carl suggested I need to see one too. He added, ‘Let’s all see Dr. Greenberg together. Maybe we can get a group discount.’ I thought for just a second that a tiny smile began to crack on Lily’s face. Instead, she stomped out of the living room, shouting as she went, ‘Get off my back. Leave me alone!’

With no enthusiasm, Lily joined us for dinner. I hoped it was the tantalizing aroma of my Hungarian goulash, but it wasn’t. I watched her out of the corner of my eye, saw her eat one potato, dip her bread in the gravy, eat it and take another slice. She waited for hot tea and a sliver of lemon meringue pie before going upstairs. The phone rang as she was taking her last lick of the fork. I thought that would set off an alarm for her to find shelter in her room, but she stayed seated.

‘This is Rabbi Bernstein, may I please speak to Lily?’ ‘Rabbi, I doubt it but will ask her. Lily shook her head ‘no, so hard I thought it might fall off. I must have looked forlorn because Lily told me to ask him what he wants. ‘Lily, dear Lily, he only wants to talk, tell you about the donations made in Bernie’s memory. You do owe those people a call, a thank you note. Invite the Rabbi over.’ This time she said an almost impossible word, ‘Okay.’ A tiny step that was a truly big jump. I cut another piece of pie, said nothing, and placed it in front of her. ‘Rabbi Bernstein will be here Saturday after morning services.’

Lily was dressed neatly. The red rims of her eyes still looked like traffic lights that wouldn’t turn green. Rabbi Bernstein must have had his small beard trimmed Friday afternoon, well before evening prayers. He could easily pass for one of thousands of college students with Rip Van Winkle beards to overnight stubble. Carl and I were asked to join them but we felt he might reach Lily more easily if she had privacy. We stayed in the kitchen, straining to eavesdrop but heard nothing at all. That was a good sign. Their chat took about ½ hour. Lily walked him to the door, shook his hand and thanked him, then went upstairs to her room.

She called down to me, ‘Sylvia, do you know where the thank you cards are? The Rabbi said at least 20 of Bernie’s friends have made donations to the shule.’ ‘Come downstairs. I’ll help you address them, Lily.’ ‘No, I can do them myself.’

The phone rang. It was the rabbi again.’ I’d like to see Lily next Saturday. Will you ask her if I can come over?’ ‘I asked her, Rabbi and she said, ‘No’ she will be at services and will see you there.’

It seemed, with god’s help, he worked some kind of miracle, a spectacular one, and I strongly now believe neither Carl, Lily or I will have to see that therapist after all.