Last week I wrote about the dual existence of trying to present a facade of my daughter still fitting into the world that I wanted her to, vs accepting where she was really holding.
At some point a few years ago our son started shidduchim.
Everyone’s favorite topic. Yeah, right.
Even in the best of circumstances, shidduchim are tricky. There are many reasons why I am not a big believer in doing a ton of research on a prospective shidduch. First, people aren’t always as truthful as one would like (“The parents have the best shalom bayis ever.”) Friends of the girl will tell you what they think they want you to hear (“She’s not really tall, not really short. She’s friendly but not too friendly”).
When everything had first started falling apart with our daughter, my son took it very hard. He is especially close with her and he was scared for her. As time wore on, and her illness started to become a backdrop in our home, we started moving on with life, as best as we could.
So, eventually it came time for shidduchim. My husband and I sat down with our son and started to discuss what he was looking for in a wife. We started compiling his resume and I sent them out to the various shadchanim that I knew.
We got the first suggestion pretty quickly. She seemed nice. I did some inquiries, and so did the girl’s parents.
They said no. Apparently, the parents had heard that our daughter had missed a considerable amount of school in 12th grade, and they were concerned about the mysterious circumstances.
Strike One.
We got the same response from the next two girls we looked into. My son got upset. He almost had tears in his eyes, “She’s ruining everything. Just everything. How am I supposed to get a shidduch this way?”
I’d like to say that I was calm and reassuring. Well, I was. At least on the outside.
Inside was a totally different story. I felt his pain. More than feeling his pain, I understood it on some level. Would this affect his chances? Could I say that I wouldn’t be nervous about a family who had a sibling who seemed to have something “wrong” with them? All of my self-righteousness was in doubt. Here I was thinking “They should look at the boy! He’s great. His siblings have nothing to do with him.” And, with head spinning whiplash, I was worried when we got suggestions for girls from families who could possibly have “an issue.”
The craziest thing about all of this, is that I am a therapist. I work with all kinds of pain and trauma; I see some very sad situations. There has been more than one time I have had a client come in and tell me how they are growing up in a dysfunctional home, but no one knew. Or, how a young woman had married into a ‘picture perfect family’ only to find out about something that if her ‘parents had known then they never would have looked into it in the first place’. These are stories I have heard regarding the parents or other siblings. These are also stories I have heard about the people they themselves had married.
Now, of course, while these stories do happen, they are not the norm. I happen to see a self-selecting population, people don’t usually come to therapy if their life is running smoothly, and everything happened the way they expected it.
I have another friend who has been divorced and remarried for over 20 years. She has an amazing marriage with her second husband. Her kids were very young when she got remarried. She told me that when she was looking into a shidduch for her son, a family said no because she was divorced… Go figure.
I have met with clients (and others) who did marry into a divorced home; and instead of dysfunctional relationships, the parents had beautiful shalom bayis. The divorce was respectful, and the parents worked together to make sure that the kids are raised with as much stability and love as possible.
Meaning, you never really know what is happening behind closed doors.
Knowing that, I was a bit disappointed with myself that I was even thinking all of this.
I needed to reground myself and move forward.
He started going out. The first couple of girls were not shayach.
It was when he went out with a girl a few times and he felt like he wanted to share this part of his life. The girl was warm and understanding and supportive.
The parents were not.
Strike Two.
There were a couple of other girls who genuinely impressed me. He told them his sister had been going through some things, and all they asked was if she was okay and if we were taking care of her. They told him they didn’t need to know anything else. These didn’t work out for different reasons.
Then there was the shidduch we thought was going to be The One. At least four different people suggested it. Two different shadchanim had tried to redt it. Our son had heard about the girl from a friend of her cousin, and he wanted to go out with her.
For a few weeks, it just hadn’t worked out for them to go out. Either she was busy, he was busy. It just didn’t happen. Then, everything came together, and they were about to go out. The shadchan had gotten a yes from us. We were waiting for the final yes from them.
I saw the shadchan’s name pop up on my screen, “Hi, so he is ready to say yes, just wanted to double check, there isn’t any history of physical or mental illness in the family.”
“Well, our daughter hasn’t been well, and we have been doing everything we can to help her.”
Hesitation, “Ok, let me call you right back.”
A few minutes later, her name flashed again.
“He wants to know the details. He doesn’t really want something difficult that his daughter may find upsetting.”
“Have him call me. I think it would be better if we spoke.”
About 20 minutes later an unknown number popped up. After some pleasantries, he got to the point.
“I heard that your daughter hasn’t been emotionally well. I heard that she missed a lot of school, and no one really shared the story with me. So, please tell me everything.”
Good thing I was sitting. Everything? As my kids would say, “None of your beeswax, buddy.” But that obviously wasn’t the mature route, so I asked him what he meant by “everything.”
Diagnosis, treatment, medications she is taking, genetic factors, prognosis. Nothing too major.
“I think most of that is private, actually. They haven’t even met yet.”
“Yeah, but…”
“How about this? Can you please ask me what we have done as her parents to take care of her? Can you ask about how we have traveled the length and breadth of Israel to find the very best for her needs? Can you ask about her brother, the boy you are looking into, has been with her? Ask about how he spends time with her, talks with her, goes places with her? His middos? What a good friend he is to people? How has this situation made him much more sensitive and aware of other people? Can you ask about how we have been dealing with it as a family?”
His response? “Umm…I guess so…”
“I think that it is much more important for you to wonder and ask about how we have managed this unexpected and very difficult situation. Every single one of us has things that happen in life. Some are bigger and more disruptive than others. So, instead of seeking perfection, find out about our family’s response and reaction.”
“You are so right. So, so right. You have really given me something to think about. Let me speak to my wife. I will get back to the shadchan.”
Just at that moment my son walked in the door, I told him I had just spoken with the father. I told him about the conversation. He looked upset, but I told him that I thought I had given him enough to think about that; I thought it would be fine.
The shadchan’s number flashed again.
“They aren’t interested.”
My son was really upset. And that was when I had a flash of clarity.
“Do you really want to have a father-in-law like this? Think about sitting at his Shabbos table and wondering what he is thinking?”
Did I want mechutanim who would be analyzing and thinking about our daughter and if she was ok?
My son and I both agreed that this was not for us. We were thankful that we were saved from a possibly upsetting situation.
As they say, “Where one door closes, Hashem opens another door.”
Very soon thereafter, he met his future wife. Her parents were only interested in how we helped her. They didn’t even want to know what the actual situation was. They didn’t feel like it was their business. They were impressed by how we handled it. They respected and appreciated that my son was such a source of support for his sister, and by witnessing all that she was struggling with made him more sensitive and giving with his friends.
My kind of people.
In this case, instead of three strikes you’re out, it was more, third times the charm.
To be continued.