Dear Mrs. Bluth,
I am so depressed. I feel like I’m no longer in control of anything in my life and I’m beginning to think of ways I can leave my problems behind and just disappear. Things have gotten so bad that my husband and I hardly even speak to each other. We are both dealing with the same issues, but he has shut me out.
Let me explain. My husband, who was always a good provider and wonderful soul mate, was pink-slipped two years ago. We went through our savings in record time and soon there was nothing left from which to draw. Nine months ago someone came to our door and warned us that if we didn’t start paying our credit card bills we would be sued, or, even worse, go to jail.
That night, I appealed to my husband to call his parents, who are wealthy with money to burn, for help. This was a terribly difficult thing for him to do, as we had no relationship with them since out eldest son was born; they were furious that we did not name the child after my mother-in-law’s grandfather. No sooner was the bris over than they cut us out of their lives. For thirteen years, they did not speak as much as a word to us, nor did we make any endeavor to resolve anything with them. They are not the nicest people, nor the easiest to get along with. The first time I met them, before we got engaged, I was almost in tears the entire evening. My mother-in-law kept comparing me to the girl my husband had dated before me. At the vort she complained about the dress I wore, the way my father ate, and odd-sounding laugh my mother had, even though she didn’t laugh once the whole evening. They are cruel people and my husband found more peace and serenity after they cut us off than when we had a relationship with them, if you could call it that.
We had four more children, Baruch Hashem, and at each birth we sent them a printed announcement inviting them to the brisim and kiddaishim, which they ignored. Our children have no memories of these grandparents and had long-ago stopped asking about them.
My parents are loving figures in their lives, offering truckloads of love and support without any pretense or expectation, but they are simple people living on a fixed income.
As we began planning for our eldest’s son bar mitzvah, the worry set in. As I said, money was non-existent and bills were piling up. We couldn’t afford even a token kiddush, let alone the lavish ones all of my son’s classmates were having. Having learned to push off bills, we simply pretended we’d get back to it at a later date, but then time ran out and it was two weeks until his bar mitzvah. So, without letting me see his angst, my husband curtly said he’d make the call.
Two days later, my in-laws drove up in their new Mercedes, unannounced and loaded for bear. Although we were shocked to see them, we invited them in. My mother-in-law drew her fur cape snuggly around her, cleared away the kids’ books, and sniffed disgustedly at the dilapidated couch she had to sit on. My father-in-law took out his checkbook and announced that since we asked for the money, we had to know that it came with certain conditions. They would be willing to help us; however, they would plan the bar mitzvah, and we’d have no say at all. Pressed to the wall, we agreed.
Invitations went out almost immediately; it seems, money can buy miracles. My mother-in-law took the children to a high-end designer store and they came home with the most expensive outfits and suits. Our bar mitzvah boy has two Borcollino hats, a magnificent tefillin bag with the most ornate stitching and the finest monogrammed cufflink shirts (with no less than four pairs of both gold and silver cufflinks to compliment them). And we couldn’t say a word.
