I am that person in the back of the ambulance being rushed after a fall to the hospital,
Though thankfully without the wailing siren.
I am the patient lying helpless and weak in the hospital bed (turns out there were multiple fractures),
The one I pitied but never had real empathy for.
Back at home at last, I am the Bowery bum,
Unwilling to change my shirt for four days lest I jar my injured arm.
I am the frumpily dressed woman—yes, I admit it!
Comfort comes before fashion these days.
I am the shnorer, the one I always looked down on,
Now gladly accepting meals from whoever is offering to give,
(But may I ask, extra-virgin olive oil only please!)
I am the person who had to humbly learn how endlessly caring were my family, friends, and community,
And especially how devoted was my husband, the real hero of this story.
I am the baby, pleased and excited at each new small accomplishment—
Today I loaded the dishwasher all by myself!
I am my limping Zaide, may he rest in peace, leaning on each piece of furniture as I pass by,
Just as he did when he did not have his cane.
I am the one about whom the prophet speaks,
My lips swollen from saying “enough!”
Enough to the many kindnesses—food, prayers, flowers, visits, and healing remedies—showered on me,
But mainly to G-d’s kindness, for He enabled me to learn these lessons,
And for that I praise and exalt Him.
