Goodbye Rivkah

 Rivkah and I were exploring the dimly-lit bookshop—a charming old-fashioned storefront shop where you could see the dust motes through the few rays of sunlight that penetrated the dim interior and marvel at the intricate book bindings that lined the shelves. We each wandered around its dusky recesses. I couldn’t find anything I wanted to buy, but Rivkah looked pleased with four Chinese prints she had unearthed. It was the same look she had on her face when she and I had gone to a Chinese scroll exhibit at the Met and she discovered a book on Chinese calligraphy to give to a friend.  We took  our place in line, to wait for the Asian cashier to finish with the several customers in front of us. Suddenly Rivkah’s face changed and her lips pursed with concern. She asked me if I’d stand in line for her and pay for the prints. “Of course,” I said, though I was puzzled by her request. Before I could ask why, she turned quickly away, strode to the door, and left the shop with an air of concentration and determination.  I wondered if she was late to teach her class at the local college or if she had forgotten about a doctor’s appointment for which she was now late.

 

When I came to the front of line to pay, my wallet was empty and I couldn't find my charge cards. I asked the man behind the counter if there were any banks nearby. He nodded that there were but, he announced flatly, “They won’t deal with you. You don’t speak Chinese.” That's when I woke up, distraught that I couldn't do what I had promised, and even if I did, I didn't know how I would get the prints to my friend.

 

The dream continued to disturb me when I reawakened later in the morning. I had not been able to visit my friend in her nursing home for the last ten months because of Corona virus restrictions. I had spoken to Rivkah on the phone two weeks prior to my dream. It was a poor connection and, in addition, her mind seemed a little muddled. The next time I called, I was told she was not in the facility. Her husband informed me that she had been taken to the hospital with a fever and had tested positive for Covid.. All I wanted to do was hug her, but all I could do was wait. Then good news. After five days she was released from the hospital. I was instructed to delay my call until the end of the week. Unfortunately, by then she was back in the hospital with pneumonia and had fallen into unconsciousness. And then, she kept her appointment, an appointment we each eventually must make. I was powerless to pay for the prints in my dream and powerless to provide her support for her final passage.

 

 

It was a beautiful day for the funeral. The air was clean and crisp. The sun reflected off the recent snowfall. The cemetery was quieted by its blanket of white. It was the kind of day Rivkah would have reveled in. She was a woman who held fresh air well above the value of diamonds and silk. Her restricted indoor life for the last year-and-a-half, and the isolation of Covid rules for the final 10 months sucked her lifeblood away as much as any of the illnesses. Her life had become, in her words, “an existence.”  She had to die in order to escape into the light.

 

I could only hear bits and pieces of the eulogies from my distant post on the path. I stayed away from all the other medically masked mourners. I exchanged a few words of condolence with her husband, his two daughters, and with her son as they passed me on the way to their cars. What gave me consolation was three of her adult granddaughters who were able to make it to the funeral. I had met them as children and young adults when I used to visit Rivkah’s upstate “farm.” Here they were, congregated around me, at Covid-safe distance. I hadn’t seen Shawn in years. She was now living in Texas, the mother of four. What she said to me melted my heart. “You gave us a challah plate for our wedding. We think of you every Friday night when we use it for Shabbat”. As for Libbie, it was exciting to see the grown version of the dark-haired girl I was so fond of, the outrageously unique, creative child who grew up to be a writer.  There beside her, stood her husband in a bowler hat, clearly a man of imagination and an excellent match for her.  And Bethie-- there are no words to describe her sufficiently. She wore her emotions on her sleeve, but remained eloquent and strong throughout the ceremony. We each wanted to hug each other so much, but didn’t because of the pandemic. These young women were my connection to Rivkah and I, it seemed, was their connection. We were a circle of people who loved Rivkah and benefitted from having known her. Rivkah would have smiled.

2/22/2021

By Marsha Hoffer