Widowish: A Memoir(6)

But I sat still. I did nothing.

Later, my sister mentioned to me that she could tell Joel was having trouble walking. Some of our closest friends, however, didn’t notice at all. After the ceremony, miraculously, Joel felt better. Which is how MS seems to work. It’s totally unpredictable.

At the celebration, Joel was raised in the chair during the hora—one hand held high in the air in triumph and the other holding on to the seat for dear life. He was happy. Friends came up to us, congratulating us, saying, “Mazel tov!” We worked hard to create a special night for all of us but mostly for Sophie. Her name was spelled out in lights, and the DJ created a dance list of songs of her choosing. She invited close to seventy friends while Joel and I, similarly to our small wedding, had a combined fifty guests including our friends and family. There were passed hors d’oeuvres, a massive buffet with chicken fingers for the kids, and salmon with lemon and capers for the adults. An ice cream bar with overflowing toppings was served for dessert.

“You did it, hun!” I said to Joel as we kissed on the dance floor. He had even managed a daddy-daughter dance with Sophie.

“I don’t know what happened,” Joel said, elated. “It’s like God gave me the strength to get through the day. I didn’t think I would.”

I wrapped him in a hug. “You were great!”

The bat mitzvah was a snapshot of who Sophie was at thirteen years old. She was confident, articulate, and happy. Happy in the way that every parent wants their child to be. It came from within. She glowed with self-confidence and a sense of well-being. She was safe in the world with her feet firmly planted, and she had all the love we had to give to her and her alone.

We were overcome with pride and joy. But in the few quiet moments I had that weekend, my concern over Joel grew. It had been a rough year so far, and I saw no signs of that letting up. Joel’s whole demeanor was different. Physically he appeared gaunt. His mood was muted. The MS was getting hard to ignore.

With Joel’s fiftieth birthday coming up, we thought a change of environment would be nice. We decided to book a vacation to Cabo San Lucas. Joel always said he preferred Mexico to Hawaii. “The flight is shorter, it doesn’t cost as much money, and the food is better.” The resort we chose was gorgeous and had multiple pools with swim-up bars, plenty of places to eat and relax, and access to a swimmable beach. We were very content on the huge, bed-like chaises that lined the beach. We were protected from the sun inside our little cabana that also had fans and water misters to battle the heat. We’d settle in with our chips and guacamole and our newspapers and magazines. Sophie had Joel’s iPad, and we were all content to do nothing. Still, Joel wasn’t feeling well. He retreated to our room one afternoon, mumbling something about work. And while I knew that heat exacerbates the symptoms of MS, after a few hours I called him from one of the phones by the pool. “Hun, come back to the beach. Sophie and I miss you.”

Half an hour went by before I spotted him on the huge circular staircase that went from the resort rooms down to the pools and beach. I didn’t recognize him at first. He wore a wide-brimmed hat, and dark sunglasses covered his face. He looked so frail! He struggled making it down the stairs, holding on to the railing for support as he slowly managed each step. I hid my tears behind my sunglasses.

The next day was better. It wasn’t as hot, the ocean not as choppy. Sophie wanted to go in, so Joel offered to take her. I went down with them and watched from the shore. There are no lifeguards on the beaches in Mexico, and everywhere you look signs warn of a strong undertow. After a while, Sophie swam back to shore easily. Joel was still in the water.

“That was so fun!” she said as I gave her a towel.

“What’s Daddy doing?” I asked her, trying not to sound concerned. He was swimming toward shore but sort of bouncing around the waves, like a cork floating in water.

“The water is so nice,” Sophie said, “he probably doesn’t want to come out.”

But I could tell that Joel could not find his footing, even in the shallow waters. The waves kept knocking him over, and he was trying hard to find his way to shore. Sophie was laughing, thinking that Joel was exaggerating his efforts. I probably laughed, too, until I realized it wasn’t a joke.

“No fair,” I told her. “You guys went in without me. I’m going in with Daddy.”

The minute I swam past the break, I got pulled under. The water wasn’t deep, but the undertow was shockingly strong. I managed to reach Joel.

“You OK?”

“Yeah. It’s just hard to get out of this.”

I pushed Joel into a wave that carried him past the break. I met him and tried to make it a lighthearted moment by carrying him the way a groom carries his bride over the threshold to their new home. I didn’t want to embarrass him for needing help. Nor did I want Sophie to notice that Joel could not have made it out on his own. We didn’t want Sophie to know how much Joel was really struggling, and how frightening that dip in the ocean really was. Of course, she knew he had MS. She saw him take his medication and knew that he got tired at times or that his legs were bothering him. But it didn’t affect her daily life. She was protected from her father’s limitations, even when he was struggling to get out of the ocean.

We spent the rest of our trip by the pool.

We celebrated his birthday at a beautiful restaurant at an organic farm that reminded us of California wine country. We ate delicious food, toasted Joel’s fiftieth with margaritas in a truly magical setting, but the trip didn’t offer the reprieve we had hoped it would.