How a Son-in-law Became a Son

When Joyce first started dating, her dad took her aside and said, “I don’t care who you date as long as he’s not Jewish and doesn’t come from New York City.”

Undoubtedly, he was reacting to one or more bad experiences with New York Jews. Well here I am, a Brooklyn born Jew. Somehow Joyce didn’t learn about this until it was too late – she already was in love with me and me with her, a few months after meeting during our first year at Hartwick College in Oneonta, NY.

Joyce went home to Buffalo, NY for spring break that first year of college, and I was planning to drive there for a visit after a few days at home with my parents close to New York City. When her dad found out who she was serious about, and that I would be coming in a few days to visit, he was not pleased. Then I telephoned Joyce and who should pick up the phone – her dad. Because I didn’t know about his prejudice, I launched headlong into getting to know this special young woman’s father. When it finally came time to get his daughter on the phone, he covered the mouthpiece of the phone and whispered, “Joyce, I really like this young man!”

I arrived in Buffalo on the afternoon of the first night of Passover. Joyce’s mom greeted me like a long lost friend, then asked if they could take me to the local temple for the service. I was surprised, but readily agreed. The real surprise, however, was to come that evening.

Louise, Hank, Joyce and I walked into the temple where a continuous stream of people welcomed Louise by name. I was starting to wonder how all these people knew her, when the rabbi called out her name, quickly approached and gave her a big hug. Now I was truly stymied.

After the service I found out the secret to Louise’s fame. Before this congregation found their own temple, they met every Friday evening at the church where Louise was secretary. That explained how they all knew her, but it didn’t explain how they loved her. That was her doing – her warm welcome, her friendliness, her lack of prejudice, and her sun-like smile. Now I understood. It was the same way I felt welcomed into her life – and her heart.

Not that our relationship as mother/son-in-law was perfect. From time to time we hurt each other’s feelings, we got angry, just like any relationship. She criticized me for not making more money. I criticized her for interfering too much in our lifestyle. But we always came back to love in the end.

She always respected that I was a doctor, even though she sometimes had trouble understanding my nontraditional approach. When our second daughter, Mira, was born in 1981, Louise came for a visit to “help with the baby.” She developed a bad cough, which progressed to a severe bronchitis with fever. Not only were Joyce and I taking care of a new baby, but also a very sick and bed-ridden Louise. One evening I sat on the side of her bed and gently but firmly prescribed that she stop smoking. She had started smoking as a teenager, when her sister Almeda told her she would never be asked out on a date unless she started smoking. Louise looked up at me and I saw a silent resolve forming in her face. She never smoked another cigarette from that day on, and often credited her son-in-law the doctor for saving her life.

Then, so many years later, she began her slow physical decline. Her body was winding down like an old clock. Her physical abilities were slowly but surely leaving her, but each seemed to be replaced by a spiritual ability. She lost bladder and bowel control, and her independence, but gained a deeper ability to receive love and care from others.

I remember one time helping her walk into the bathroom, helping to pull down her pants and remove her diaper. With a painful look of embarrassment, she said, “Oh, Barry, here you are a man and my son-in-law, having to do all this.”

I reminded her, “Grandma, remember I’m also a doctor.”

“Oh I forgot.” And a look of peace came over her face.

“But that’s not all, grandma. Please remember that I feel blessed to be able to give back to you all the love you have given me over the years.”

Then the look of a child in wonder as she asked, “Really?” but the broad smile gave away her genuine joy and understanding.

She was losing some short-term memory but her long-term memory was improving, as was her ability to live in the moment. This was an amazing gift to me as well as everyone who came into her presence. Toward the end of her life, every time she looked into my eyes, I felt bathed in love. The curtain of ego had thinned to the point where it was no longer able to block the light, just as the summer fog where we live close to the Pacific Ocean eventually dissipates, allowing the full radiance of the sun.

Not long before she passed, Louise whispered to me, “You know, Barry, you’re not my son-in-law. I love you as my son – just as much as I do my birth son, Bruce.”

And with tears in my eyes, I looked into her physically fading but spiritually shining eyes and spoke, “You know, grandma, your love and acceptance has mothered me every bit as much as my own birth mother.”

I felt moved to start singing one of my favorite songs from Cole Porter, “I give to you and you give to me, true love, true love. And on and on it will always be, true love, true love.”
As I sang, her physically feeble yet spiritually loving hands and arms reached up for me and we kissed and hugged.

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