At Least It's Not January Any More

Welcome to guest blogger, Judy Mosbacher, editor, writer, and—oh, yes—my sister. Not only is she a terrific writer, but her message is SO worth reading. Why or why do we always need reminding of the lessons all around us?

You know what it’s like, don’t you? I’m guessing that you have been where I am at least once in your life, a bad day, or week, or even a month. You find yourself sighing a lot; you crave solitude; you feel as though you’ve reached your limit and cannot bear to deal with one more crisis. Well, that’s where I was today. That is, until I talked with Bruce.

But, I’d better back up a little. It’s a Saturday in June, it’s 111 degrees outside, and I am feeling pretty sorry for myself as I drive from store to store running errands – replenishing my supply of vitamin C, stopping at the grocery store for laundry detergent, and dropping in at the Verizon store to replace that little spongy thingy that sits on the tip of my cell phone headset. I’m wilting in the sauna-like heat, but I’m determined to complete one more errand before heading home and collapsing in a heap in front of the AC vent.

Bruce owns Tager Optical Shop in the local shopping center on the corner of 32^nd Street and Camelback. I buy my groceries at the Safeway, my vitamins at Fresh Vitamins, grab a burger at Delux, or treat myself to a gelato at the G Spot. It has been my comfort zone for almost 20 years. Today, I’m bringing my bifocals to Bruce in the hope he can repair one of the arms that snapped off when I yanked them out of my purse.

I haven’t been in his shop for quite a while, but I know that Bruce will probably be sitting at the front desk, watching his small-screen TV. If my visit happens to occur on a weekday, I can just about guarantee he will be absorbed in one of his favorite soaps. It is almost closing time, so I’m guessing he is just biding his time until he can lock up and head home.

“Hey, how ya doing?” he asks and comments that he hasn’t seen me for a while. We chat a little and then he breaks the news that my frames are basically non-repairable. After a “oh, darn” response, I ask what I think is a simple question that will probably illicit a simple response.

“How are you doing, Bruce?”

“Well, at least it’s not January any more.”

I smile, thinking there’s a joke coming. “Why, what happened in January?”

What he tells me next reshapes my thoughts and mindset from this point on. His story is brief, almost void of emotion, but it is as though his words shoot straight through my body and pierce my heart like an arrow in flight.

“My wife died in January, and then less than 3 weeks late my mother died, and then one of my best customers, just a couple of hours after she left my store, was murdered, and then my biggest supplier of lenses committed suicide. I guess you could say January 2011 was a pretty bad month.”

I stare at him in silence for what seems like minutes. Offering my condolences seems so inadequate, but I do anyway. He elaborates just enough to offer some sort of explanation. I hear “breast cancer,” “10 years,” “95-year-old mother,” “children and grandchildren,” “couldn’t have survived without them” ­­– but the sentences seems disjointed, like a poor cell phone connection.

A friend of mine once told me that G-d doles out only as much as any one person can take, and no more. I hope He recognizes that Bruce has reached his limit, because I can’t imagine him being able to deal with one more thing, no matter how small.

We talk a little more before I sense that he has said all he wants to say. My heart aches for him. I want to open my arms and hold him close to me, to somehow let him know how much I am feeling for him. But, of course, I don’t.

Instead, I say, “Please take care, Bruce.” He says he will.

Four tragic losses in one month, and yet he perseveres. As I walk out of the shop, I straighten my shoulders just a bit, give my head a shake in an effort to lighten its load, and take a deep breath. For some reason, the heat doesn’t feel quite as stifling as it did when I walked in just a few minutes before. Without his knowing it, he has managed to transmit a little bit of that perseverance to me.

Thankfulness. It can so easily be relegated to the back of the line when the “woe-is-me” takes over. Bruce has helped to bring it front and center again.

Although you will never know your effect on me this day, I want to thank you, Bruce. You have lightened my load.