On Wednesday afternoon, my mother-in-law was surprisingly amenable to alighting from her bed and to reciting Vidui (confession) word for word. That same evening I walked into her room to find her serenely perched in a chair, her devoted son at her side. She looked up and made brief eye contact, with the slightest hint of recognition on her sallow face, then wearily lowered her gaze. I was reminded of the times I’d hear her footsteps approaching and would run to hold the door ajar for her.
“How did you know I was coming?” she’d ask in wide-eyed wonder. “I felt it” I’d reply to her delight, pointing to my heart, which soaked up the brachos she would shower me with. This time I was forewarned against expecting any kind of coherent reaction or response.
My husband left us alone. I asked in Yiddish, “Who am I?” Feebly but unhesitatingly she whispered my name. I sat down next to her and took her hand in mine. She raised her other hand slowly, to cup my own. I ventured, “De shvigger veist veimes einikel ich bin (knows whose grandchild I am)” Painstakingly, barely audibly, she mouthed, “…Bentzion” – the last word she would say to me in this world.
As we lay her down for the night, I tenderly kissed her withered cheek and bade her goodnight . . . and before dawn of the following day – Thursday, Rosh Chodesh Mar Cheshvan – her neshama departed this world. I envisioned a contingent of righteous souls and dancing angels heralding her arrival in Gan Eden.
In one fell swoop we were divested of our years-long daily windfall of mitzvos: kibud av v’eim, gemilus chassadim, hachnossas ohrchim and bikur cholim.
On Friday, my husband was able to assume the role of sandek at the bris of our newest grandson. (As my mother-in-law’s stepson, the youngest of the three small orphans she had taken under her wing, my husband was not sitting shiva.) The announcement of the baby’s name came like a bolt out of the blue – Bentzion. Our children had privately chosen to name their son for his great-great-grandfather.
Seven days after her passing, we paid tearful tribute to a remarkable soul as a headstone was laid to mark my mother-in-law’s final resting place. That very night, my daughter connected with her zivug when they set a date to meet for the first time – several years after her induction into the dating scene.
Six weeks later – one year ago, on erev Chanukah – our families joyfully celebrated their engagement with a lechayim. The flame that had been extinguished on Rosh Chodesh Cheshvan was kindled anew, burning brighter than ever, as we went from light to shining light.
