A Million Pieces

"He seems smitten," the shadchan tells me after the third date.

"He's smitten," I repeat to my daughter. She grins, and I know she is equally smitten. It is all moving so fast, I can barely catch my breath.

"What does smitten mean?" my little boy asks.

"You know...like the firstborn in Mitzrayim were smitten," my daughter explains. "Like...hit hard." My daughter is laughing, and my little boy is not happy with her explanation.

It's good to see her so excited. So this is how it is, I think. Just when it all seems so hopeless, along comes the right one. All those dry months, waiting for the phone to ring. And then it does ring. And they seem so right for each other. She likes him. He likes her. Everything falls into place.

It all just seems so...right.

And then it's over.

As quickly as it started, it's over.

 
I would die for my children. I knew that instantly, the moment they were born. I hope I am never tested, but I wonder sometimes if seeing them in pain and knowing there is nothing I can do to take it away isn't harder, in some way.

I want to be able to tell her that it'll be ok. That this wasn't bashert. That someone more wonderful will come along soon. But I don't know that it's true. How can I know?

My heart aches for her. I wish I could fix this somehow. I wish I could take the pain away. I wish I could feel it for her. Instead of her.

But I can't. I see her anguish and it's breaking my heart into a million pieces.

And there's nothing I can do.