Lean on Me

When my sister Rivka was forty-five years old, she became a paraplegic. It started with lower back pain that got worse as the week went by. She was told to rest, lose some weight and come back if the pain got worse. Three days later she couldn’t stand up. My mother, who was staying with her, called an ambulance and Rivka was rushed to the hospital but it was too late. A spinal infection had done irreparable damage and we were told she would never walk again.

For my family it was a time of devastating pain and confusion. My nieces and nephew were completely traumatized and my mother had a small stroke two days later.

I flew to the states shortly after. There was so much to do and so many decisions to make, all of them under the tremendous burden of sudden tragedy.

I spent my days in the hospital with my sister, while my niece dealt with all the paper work.  My mother moved in with my brother until other arrangements could be made. Everyone was coping admirably and our faith in God sustained us, but even so, there were some very low days.

One of the hardest aspects for me was the absolute sense of helplessness I felt watching my beautiful sister come to terms with what had happened. Always an active person with a full time job and a nice social life, Rivka was suddenly imprisoned in a hospital bed with a future she couldn’t begin to imagine. From her waist down she couldn’t feel a thing.

As her loving older sister I was absolutely horrified. Every time I walked across a room I remembered that she could no longer do so. When I turned over in bed, I pictured her needing help even for that. When I got up from a chair, tied my shoes or went to the bathroom I imagined her helplessness and vulnerability.  Suddenly every move I made caused me guilt and despair. How could God let this happen? Why her? (And why her and not me?)

During that first agonizing year, my emuna (faith) did not burn brightly. Its flame was as low as an old gray charcoal from a leftover barbecue. I knew I had to go back to the spiritual basics. It was time to face the facts:

1. What happened to my sister was not an accident. Even if medical negligence could be proved, it was first approved by God.

2. God’s thoughts are not our thoughts and in God’s opinion this situation was good for my sister and good for her family. And that needs to be good enough for me.

3. Embracing these beliefs would help me to be stronger, calmer and more accepting.

4. Ultimately the situation could bring us all to a higher spiritual level and closer to God, which is the whole point of living.

Since my sister got sick, I’ve made a conscious effort to be really grateful for the gift of walking. I don’t own a car and at times walking around doing errands would get on my nerves. No more! Now every step I take is appreciated. All I do is imagine how thrilled my sister would be to drop off a letter at the post office or push a cart through the grocery store. To hop on a bus or use a treadmill. To swim, to dance, to stand up and pray!

Over the years, since she lost the use of her legs, I have seen my sister scale unbelievable heights in emuna. She is happy, deeply spiritual and very funny. And when she does enter a tunnel of fear and darkness, she always comes back out into the light. Despite the continual challenges of life as a paraplegic, she never gives up. My sister is a spiritual star and I am privileged to be one of her biggest fans.

Living so far from Rivka, it’s impossible for me to physically help her. So I do the mitzva (commandment) of bikur cholim (visiting the sick) as often as I can by calling and texting. I used to feel that it wasn’t enough until one day I was reciting psalm number 91 and I came across the line where God declares, ”I am together with him in his distress” and suddenly I had a revelation. True I can’t make my sister walk again. I can’t send her loads of money and I can’t live nearby and cook her dinner. But, like God, I can be with her in her distress.

The times when she is recovering from yet another surgery, or just feeling overwhelmed I can give her my total attention. And sometimes it’s not easy. Sometimes I feel my heart clench as she describes her latest medical procedure. How much can she bear? But I stay the course, I hear her out and I commiserate as best I can. Often the conversation turns to emuna. My sister reads a lot of Rebbe Nachman and we discuss his ideas on faith. Other times we laugh together over old family jokes, the way only siblings can do. She is still who she was, but her life is different than it used to be.

A few years ago I was blessed to visit Rivka in Maryland, where she lives now in her own apartment. By that time she had an electric wheelchair that could really move. On our way to the nearby mall, my sister gunned the motor and I was forced to run alongside it.

A man watched us as we cut through the gas station. “Hey!” he yelled at my sister, “That’s not fair!”  We both burst out laughing, delighted by the irony of his observation. He felt sorry for ME! And suddenly I felt happy. I realized that my sister’s body is wheelchair bound but her soul is soaring higher each day. And there I am, running, to keep up with her!