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One's Company — Revisited

Sima Rapaport

It’s always the busiest right before the best, when the day culminates over steaming food and a clear head, my beloved son off to sleep, so I can share my day with the one who comes first, who I always put first in our family unit of three.

Wednesday, July 13, 2016

one

Photo: Shutterstock

I dance around the kitchen, singing at the top of my lungs, improvising lyrics when I can’t remember them. “Little kite, tell me, for I cannot sing — er, fly — can you see distant oceans and mountains so high?” 

I secretly thank Abie Rotenberg, silently asking forgiveness for the ad-libbing. I hope he grants it, for every note is worth it. It’s the only way my Shmuel — my beautiful, vocal, very strong-minded son — will allow me to prepare dinner while he plays with toys in his high chair. 

I’m breathless and trying to finish up, setting the table while bringing out drinks, back and forth and back and forth. It’s always the busiest right before the best, when the day culminates over steaming food and a clear head, my beloved son off to sleep, so I can share my day with the one who comes first, who I always put first in our family unit of three.

Photo: Shutterstock

I flash back to those dark days after the shidduch fell through, the gray escape to Eretz Yisrael, followed by the sun breaking through again, finally, weeks after my return. I’d only just gotten my smile back, the bounce had just returned to my step, when the shadchan called. She was hesitant, sensitive after all the heartache. But she was determined. He wanted to try again. Would I give him another chance? 

First I hung up. Then I cried. Called my mother. Cried again. Then I called the shadchan and said okay. One more time.

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