“I started having problems my second year of college. At first it was a lot of pain, and vomiting, and fatigue. Ben and I were doing long distance at the time, so he’d drive up on the weekends to take care of me. But during our visits, I’d always think: ‘He doesn’t have to be here.’ I wasn’t that fun girl anymore. The one he met while dancing on a table in Mexico. We could no longer do those things. And during one particularly long hospital stay, I decided to help him break away. I was going to write him a long letter, and pack up my things, and disappear. But I was never able to do it. Because I got too sick and needed him around. We ended up eloping in Las Vegas so that I could qualify for health insurance. And ever since then it’s been years of -isms and diseases. I’ve had eleven surgeries. So much of our relationship has been dictated by my health. We have three beautiful children, and there are days when Ben has to do everything: the cooking, the cleaning, the homework. But he still promises me that I’m a good mom. He never mentions the things I can’t do. He always reminds me of the things I’m able to accomplish. It’s always little stuff. He’ll say: ‘Don’t forget that you paid some bills today. And you colored a picture with Julian. And you read a bedtime story.’ There are times when I’ll withdraw completely. It’s normally after we have to cancel a vacation. Or Ben has to take off work. And I’ll start thinking about how he could be living a completely different life. I’ll go to a really dark place. But he’ll remind me that he chose this life. And he continues to choose it. Ben has been writing me letters for our entire relationship. He keeps them all in a safe. And they’re so important to me, because written words are easier to accept. You can read them over and over. The last one was a couple months ago. I was having a particularly bad day. And Ben came back from getting groceries. He sent the kids into my room with some flowers and a little note. It said: ‘I believe one day the mountain is going to shrink off your shoulders, and it’s going to be amazing. But life is not for waiting. I love you with my whole being, but I need you to love yourself too.’”
“I wanted to fly planes on an aircraft carrier, but my father had fought in World War I, and he told me that we’re a family who goes into the army. So I enlisted in the infantry. I wasn’t worried about a thing. I was only eighteen years old. I was too young and too stupid to be afraid. The government sent me to Europe on the Queen Mary. I had two sets of dog tags. One of them designated my religion as ‘Hebrew,’ which I planned on throwing away if I got caught. I was sent to the Battle of the Bulge. When I arrived at my post outside of Luxembourg, I learned that all the officers in my company had been killed, except for one. He assigned me to be an advance scout. It sounds like a glamorous job, but my orders were to walk in front and draw fire so everyone behind me knew there was danger. At one point a shell exploded over my head and my ear started bleeding. When the medics finished bandaging me up, they told me: ‘That will be enough to get you a Purple Heart!’ But I told them to keep it because I knew they’d notify my parents, and I didn’t want them to worry. After I recovered I was transferred to the Mauthausen concentration camp. I arrived on my 19th birthday. My new job was to guard the liberated prisoners so the Nazis didn’t come back and kill them. These people were so emaciated from being starved to death. I was helping to bury hundreds of bodies per day. But I couldn’t cry. Because I had be strong for the prisoners. They needed my strength. I would walk around the courtyard at night, and sing a popular Jewish song called ‘My Yiddishe Momme.’ It’s a whole long story about missing your mother, but the lyrics didn’t matter. I’d sing it as loud as I could. Because I wanted everyone to know that a Jewish boy was there to protect them.” #quarantinestories
