22 Elul,
Wednesday, September 17
I almost didn’t make it to Limestone this year.
In
the morning of the first day that Yonah came home from the hospital, it became
clear to me that it would be impossible for either one of us to make the
seven-hour drive to Limestone. Yonah was still in terrible pain from the
surgery, even with the heavy medication, and he needed to sleep. I was not
about to leave him at home. No one could predict how quickly he would recover.
But
even if he were awake and pain free, he would have been miserable sitting around
and watching everyone else do the work that he was prohibited from carrying
out. Yonah has been to Limestone nearly every year since the summer before his
bar mitzvah. He loves climbing on the roof. He has developed carpentry skills.
At 6 foot 1, he often volunteers to lift heavy loads. Not to mention how much
fun he has with the others on the trip. None of this would be possible in his
condition.
With a great heaviness, I
informed the group that we would not be making the trip. Given that this was to
be our last Limestone sojourn, I knew I would mourn this loss. But every parent
knows that when our own children are in pain, we go to their bedside. There was
no question in my mind that this was where I needed to be.
That day was the hardest day
for both of us. Until about four o-clock, when three dramatic events unfolded.
First, Yonah came into the room where I was working. He was feeling angry and
frustrated. Yet he had come up with a plan. If only his friends could come over
and cheer him up, would that be ok? I was so glad he was up to having people
over and that he had figured this out for himself. Of course we agreed, as long
as they didn’t stay too late, since he still needed lots of sleep.
About an hour later, I got a
phone call from the surgeon. I had never met Dr. Cook, though he had called me on
Saturday night to say that the surgery was a success. I had several questions
for him, including my concern about the extent of Yonah’s pain. Dr. Cook assured
me that the first two days are the worst. Then he made a magnanimous offer: if
Yonah was still in pain on Thursday, he would squeeze him in, even though he didn’t
have a free minute in his schedule. I felt comforted by this kind man.
And not long after that, I
got a text from Limestone. Because people don’t check their phones during the
day, they had just gotten notice of our decision to stay in Boston. In a
creative and very generous gesture, they insisted that before the week was out I
should fly up to Presque-Isle, just a half hour’s drive from our motel in
Caribou. And they had all agreed that the group would pitch in to pay for the
flight.
I was so moved by this idea
and by the open-heartedness of the group. Though I waited until the next day to
make a decision, by Tuesday Yonah’s condition was improving, and Brian agreed
to stay home with him for a day so that I could leave.
Expectations can be cruel.
When we don’t meet them, our hopes are dashed. Then again, when we have no
expectations of others they almost always surprise us for the good. Every single person I encountered that day made
something ordinary feel extraordinary. One Elul practice is to learn to give
others the benefit of the doubt, in Hebrew: to judge everyone lechaf zechut. If we assume that people are doing the best
they can, we begin to notice how much goodness surrounds us.
No comments:
Post a Comment