WELL DONE!

Tziri Frank

I thought I was done.

But I was wrong.

Somehow, someway, somewhere along the line I got the idea that if I went through the trauma of having a special needs child at the ripe old age of twenty-one, and I lived to talk about it, I would be done.

Done as in finished, completed.

Done as in I made it through the hard times.

Done as in coming to terms with the shattered dreams and altered expectations of parenting a special needs child.

Done as in I’ve had my share of life altering challenges, now I don’t have to worry about going through any more.

So, Yossi was born. And I went on the wild emotional and mental roller coaster ride of therapists, doctors, and social workers. And I altered my expectations. And I coped. And I cared. And I survived.

But I was not done.

Because, just when I reached a relative sense of peace and equilibrium, my world once more imploded. On a Motzei Shabbos night, three days before Pesach, two and a half years ago, Yossi’s pure sweet neshoma was recalled back to the Kisei Hakovod where it belongs. And once more I found myself in a world that I did not recognize. Once more I had to come to terms with a life changing challenge that parents should never have to endure. But I figured this was the final chapter of the challenges and difficulties I would have to endure ever since my first born was diagnosed with severe hydrocephalus. So once more I managed, and I coped, and I survived. And in the back of my mind I figured, this is it, now I am done.

Done as in finished, graduated with honors from the school of hard knocks life.

Done as in - no more challenging life situations for me.

Done as in “been there, done that”, done!

But I am not done.

And it’s a painful lesson to learn.

Once upon a time I thought that the day to day reality of caring for a special needs child would be the most difficult part of parenting. Now, I fondly recall the days where I had only deal with juggling therapists, doctors, and family reactions to Yossi. Because, compared to the world of shidduchim that I now reside in, those were the good old days. At least I felt as if I had some control over my world. Ha! Now, I am learning that the rules and regulations, the questions and the endless forms of dealing with a special needs child pale in comparison to the even more indecipherable rules and endless questions and never ending rewriting of His/Her resume documentation in the shidduch world.

It started a couple of months ago.

“Send me your daughter’s resume,” ordered my friend one busy Wednesday morning as I was trying to juggle two jobs, three carpools, and a one day only sale at Macy’s, “I may have a shidduch for her.”

“Sure! Great!” I responded enthusiastically. And then I remembered. “Oh. Yeah. I never wrote one. Can’t you just tell the other side all about us?” I asked hopefully.

“By mouth?” she responded in horror.

“Yup!” I agreed, “You know, kinda the way things were done in the olden days, like way back when we got married.”

“Oh Tziri,” she said with a “she’s hopeless” sigh, “things are just not done like that anymore.”

And so, I gave up the sale, made the children walk the three miles all uphill over the mountains and through the woods to get to school, and I took a much needed day off from work.

And I wrote.

And I researched.

And I typed.

And I rewrote.

And I re-researched.

And I retyped.

And eventually, a mere ten hours later, I had the shidduch resume done. I promptly sent it to my friend.

And she immediately called.

“This won’t do.” She said in her no-nonsense voice.

“Have you heard about tonight’s cooking fiasco?” I asked, “The food came out kinda well done.”

“Is that why there were sirens in front of your house?” she asked, “I figured that ever since --- you know ---- Yossi….. well anyways, I figured that you were done with emergency vehicles zooming up to your front door.”

Yeah. I thought so too. But I was wrong. In any case that was not the point of the conversation. So I quickly changed the subject.

“So, what won’t do?” I reminded my well meaning comrade.

“Oh, yes,” she remembered, “your daughter’s shidduch resume. It won’t do.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” I blustered, “I researched. I used sample resumes. I spent time and effort to make sure that everything is only on one side of one page with narrow margins in a clear font that is not double spaced and also not single spaced. And I even called my mother in law to find out how to spell her maiden name. What could be wrong?”

“You wrote down Yossi,” she responded.

“And, so….?” I asked in confusion.

“And so?” she sputtered in indignation, “Why are you putting him on the resume?”

“Because,” I responded with all the assurance that comes from knowing that just this once I had the right answer, “there is a section labeled siblings. And Yossi is Atara’s older brother!”

And then I drew a deep breath, “and furthermore, you should know that all seven of the resume’s I looked at for guidance, and all six of the people I spoke to for guidance, and all five of the articles I looked at for guidance all told me to be sure that I carefully note down Atara’s siblings.”

And I thought to myself, “And you call yourself the expert?” Ha!

“Well you have to take it out,” responded my buddy.

“B….Bu….But…. why?” I asked.

“Tziri, really do I have to explain everything to you?” she asked, “you can’t put the fact that you had a special needs child right there on the resume!”

“b…Bu….But I did have Yossi!” I insisted, “and he is a sibling! Ergo (I look for any opportunity to include that word in my sentence), Ergo he belongs there!”

“Well, technically, maybe yes, but you have to be very careful with a Shidduch resume!” insisted my friend.

Since she has made twenty one shidduchim, she is an acknowledged expert on the subject. So I listened instead of going with my natural inclination to argue.

Using her best authoritative, calm, don’t mess with me tone of voice she continued, “On a shidduch resume, appearances are everything. Why would you open yourself up to all kinds of questions and extra checking by openly admitting you have a special needs child? I know how much you loved Yossi, and how hard you struggled to deal with having a severely mentally and physically handicapped child!   But…. “

And here came that awkward pause in the conversation that always occurs when someone is not quite sure how to make you see the elephant in the room, without of course acknowledging that there is actually a five ton behemoth in the area.

Eventually she decided to just be blunt, “I could understand your insistence if Yossi were still alive, but… well, …. He’s not here anymore…. So you really don’t have to, you know, mention him…..”

And the conversation drifted into silence.

It was then that I had a flash of epiphany (another word you don’t get to use often enough in ordinary conversation).

“But we live in an age where information is literally at your fingertips, and everyone knows someone who knows someone who knows someone.” I said with dawning clarity, “it’s only a matter of time before whoever is checking us out discovers that Atara did have a special needs brother!”

Silence.

“And then it will look as if we are hiding something!” I proclaimed, “so really, in the interest of showing how honest and forthcoming I am, I really need to have Yossi written down on that paper. And besides, why would anyone have a problem with the fact that Atara had a brother with hydrocephalus. The doctors have proved it’s not genetic!”

“Oy!” she responded.

“OY?” I questioned, “what’s the OY!”

“Oy!   I need a stronger cup of coffee,” came the immediate response, “and some more valium. I really don’t make enough money from a shidduch to justify all this stress.”

“Try chocolate,” I offered helpfully, “it’s the done thing when life seems to be coming undone!”

“I need to call the experts,” she said completely ignoring my helpful hints.

And she hung up.

Turns out that the question sparked a heated discussion across the North American continent with no less than a half dozen self proclaimed experts weighing in on the subject.

And they debated.

And they pondered.

And they pontificated.

I’m pretty sure the discussion is still in progress.

But at the end of the day, I did my thing, and I included Yossi.

And I felt good about it.

And when I sent the resume (with a check) to shadchan after shadchan after friend after acquaintance, I got the same response to all my hard work and writing skills.

“Well done!”