Assuming that his health holds, my father-in-law will join us for Rosh Hashanah, as he has for many years. My brother-in-law drives him from his home in Northern Virginia, and though his eyesight is failing and his gait increasingly unsteady, he will sit through the davening at Minyan M’at and slip upstairs on the second day to listen to Natasha, whose beautiful voice he admires.
This would not be so exceptional but for the fact that only a couple of weeks after the holiday, he will turn 99 years old. Almost his centenary! An extraordinary milestone considering he still lives in his home, alone and largely unassisted. He stopped driving only a few years ago – news that we greeted with many sighs of relief – but insists on cooking himself, which still causes us to worry.
His daughter and one son live nearby and are devoted to helping him shop, go to medical appointments, attend synagogue, fiddle with his computer. My husband Mark, the oldest, is similarly devoted from afar, calling his father every day. My daughters adore their Zayde, visiting as often as possible, providing him with the joy of occasionally seeing his two great-grandchildren.
To express my gratitude and wonder at his longevity and unflagging spirit would be an understatement. His wife died 25 years ago, my parents not long after, and I’ve never witnessed someone I love live this long. His stubbornness sometimes annoys us, his Depression-era habits still drive us crazy. (He has two large freezers, all packed, waiting for what?)
But he has taught all of us so much about aging gracefully and treating each day as a genuine blessing. So this Rosh Hashanah, as the family gathers with my father-in-law at the head of the table, we will say the Shehecheyanu with especially full hearts.
Photo by Marcus Yam
