Love, be loved.
My parents had acquired an unusual habit during their 49 years of marriage.
Whenever they left the house together, they kissed each other right in front of the door. Usually this would happen with habitual quickness, but of course this kiss had become a necessity for them.
Ever since they were just married, they'd kiss each other at the door, and it was a tradition for them now. Even if they were in the middle of an argument (even their quarrels were always civilized), they would take a little break, kiss each other, and resume their argument as they left the door. When I was a kid, I thought that all parents kissed when leaving the house.
The memories of my father's death still remain very clear in my brain. I do not say the voice of the telephone, the funeral, the condolences of hundreds of people, the arm of my son who has become a teenager, and his mourning prayer Kadiş ...
But most of all, my mother's state of leaving the house to go to the funeral ... When she comes to the door, she pauses for a moment and sighs herself ... Then squeezing my hand tightly and tightening her steps outward ...
I certainly wouldn't dare describe my parents' marriages. For what can a child know about his parents' relationship, even if he is a grown-up child? But there is a long history that I shared with them and occupied a priority in their lives. Many sorrows, troubles, joy, pride and comfort towards the end ...
My parents joked that their marriages were mixed marriages. Perhaps the marriage of my mother, who was the grandson of a German Jew, and my father, the grandson of a Russian Jew, in the 1940s was considered a mixed marriage. Their backgrounds had clashed with each other, their families were very different from each other.
That festive afternoon Sherri, my parents and the children were sitting around the table at the end of a nice meal. Everyone was full and relaxed. Mother, asking her permission, said she had to go upstairs and pack the bags so that she and my father would not go to Baltimore in time and miss the Sabbath evening prayer. A few minutes later she made that expected call from above: "Norman, are you coming up to help me?"
My father was uncomfortable. Not only was he uncomfortable, he started to complain when he found himself in front of an audience who would listen to him that day: "Punctual, always punctual ... Always on time, on time .." He seemed to have fun while saying these. My mother called again, and my father continued to talk deliberately about German Jewish traditions. The children fell silent. Sherri and I were extremely uncomfortable.
For the first time in my life, because I was still their child - I attempted to intervene. The tool I chose was to joke. I took a deep breath, looked at dad with my raised eyebrows and said, "Yes, daddy. It really is giving you so much trouble. Why don't you marry someone else?" I said.
Sherri and the children started laughing wildly. My father smiled and said it wasn't a bad idea, and joined the laughter. When we told my mom, even she thought it was pretty funny she.
In the last years of their marriage, my parents had more tense, impatient and angry moments. I stood aside and wished the same wouldn't happen to Sherri and me. I was wondering if what I saw was unique to my parents or was it seen in every marriage as a result of old age.
The scholars said that according to God, thousands of years can look like a single day. As a human, I also learned that a brief moment can feel for years. A single moment may be more pronounced than all the days and years that surrounded it. Moments in a cold, dim hospital room, for example ...
A few months after that festive dinner, my father was hospitalized for prostate surgery. This surgery was commonplace for men of his age, but this fact did not alleviate the fear of the surgery.
On the morning of the surgery, my mom showed that she still hadn't lost a gentlemanly thing when she kissed her good luck. We tried to spend time like the other people in the hospital, having a little breakfast and until the doctor arrived. The doctor had good news and told us that my father would return to his room in 1 hour.
We waited for him. Finally, a group of nurses brought him to his room on a stretcher and carefully placed him on his bed. When people left, I realized how old my father, Norman Alper, looked. Her hair was dull, her mouth was bent, and a red streak appeared above her nose. He slept well.
Soon he woke up, looked at us and smiled. Then one of the most beautiful events I have ever witnessed in my life happened. Carefully, lovingly, Mom gave my dad the dentures he had never parted before. My father's face brightened when he placed the teeth in his mouth. As if at a ceremony, my mom handed my dad his glasses, then the hearing aid ... He wiped his cheeks, combed his hair. And finally homeHe put his lord ring on my father's finger.
Step by step, my mother brought it back to herself. Step by step my father turned to my mother. This was pure happiness! Pure happiness that goes back and forth between them!
I was standing near them, but it was as if I wasn't there for them. They were alone.
I watched my old parents. They were still lovers ...