Counting My Blessings

An Open Letter to My First Husband, Jerry

Dearest Jerry,

It’s the third day of the New Year, and in just three more days, I will light a yahrtzeit candle marking the 20^th anniversary of your death. To become a widow at 39 was a watershed mark in my life. Losing you was profoundly painful for Daphne and me – hoping and praying you’d get better in time for her Bat Mitzvah.

Even a loss can come with gifts. You gave your daughter and me the tools to become supremely self-reliant, and most importantly, the ability to discern what really matters. In that spirit, I want you to know that Daphne and I, now living in different cities, are happy and healthy, celebrating life at its fullest:

(1)  Daphne and Etan, now married more than one year, will be leaving Orlando, where they fell in love writing for the same newspaper, and relocating to Atlanta. Etan will be joining CNN International as a digital media producer. Your daughter inherited your brains, looks, and networking skills, so I’m confident that despite the economy she will find a great new job.

(2)  Dennis and I will be celebrating our 10^th wedding anniversary in March. You were a psychiatrist who especially enjoyed working with artists, so I know you’d appreciate his dual degrees in painting and drawing and law. Both his skills sets come in really handy. Our condo is filled with beautiful paintings, and Dennis is great when I have legal questions regarding the condo. Daphne and Etan gave him a very loving Chanukah present, a gift certificate to Jerry’s Artarama.

(3)  Ken and Evelyn came over for brunch on New Year’s Day, along with some neighbors from Beverly Road who happen to be clients of Dennis. Evelyn brought over a big platter of cookies. (The little pieces of zucchini bread evoked memories of the days when you and I would give Evelyn jars of Crabtree & Evelyn raspberry jam as a token of our appreciation for all the yummy baked goods she gave us.) Afterwards, Evelyn and I retired to the den to do some serious online research on the status of certain people we know, while Dennis and Ken continued their conversation in the dining room.

(4)  Despite my dream the other night that my boat rack at the rowing club had been taken away for no discernible reason, I look forward to getting out on the Charles as soon as the river thaws. I went over to the boathouse for a meeting yesterday, and catching up with the friends I see on the dock at 5:30 a.m. in warmer months felt like old home week. The rowing club was my salvation after your death, and I want you to know that the plaque commemorating gifts for the most recent boathouse renovation has a line saying “in loving memory of Jerry Sashin.”

(5)  As a psychoanalyst, you will no doubt be intrigued by another dream in which I make a horrible discovery. Unbeknownst to me, a medication I’ve been taking contains cortisone. When I look down I see the cortisone has caused an unsightly midriff roll. I feel lucky to report that I’m still 125 pounds, thanks to lots of rowing in the summer, spinning in the winter, and weight training in all seasons. I feel lucky enough to be able to say that you and Dennis would love me even if I did have a midriff roll. But I don’t.