A Little Help from Above by Saralee Rosenberg Page A

lawsuit.”
    “Well believe it. It’s why Bernard had a nervous breakdown. Even attempted suicide.”
    “I’m confused.” Shelby collapsed in her seat. “My father refused to let me mourn, or even talk about my mother. Now you’re saying during that whole time he was out for blood?”
    “I apologize. I had no business telling you any of this. You’ve been through enough.”
    “No, it’s okay.”
    “No, it was totally unprofessional on my part. I frankly don’t know what got into me.”
    “Forget about it.” Shelby shrugged. “I’ve been known to overdo it myself on occasion.”
    “It’s just…I’ve always wondered if your father had let us move on, maybe Bernard wouldn’t have left medicine. And left….”
    “You?” Shelby finished her sentence.
    Irma nodded.
    “Thank you for coming to see me.” Shelby smiled wistfully.
    “Of course.” Irma bowed. “I’ll check in with you again tomorrow, if you’d like.”
    “Great.” Shelby watched her head out. “But not too late. I’m flying back to Chicago.”
    “Like hell you are,” Irma muttered when she was out of earshot.
     
    I may not know much, but of this I’m sure. When Irma Jean Weiner (nee Epstein) is returned to the safe, warm existence from which we all come, she will be ushered in by the angels and bathed with love. And she will be deserving. Not merely because she was compassionate and generous, but because she learned to use her native wit and intellect to overcome great personal problems. Albeit too familiar problems for a doctor’s wife.
    Hers was a textbook case. She not only put her husband through med school, she raised their two sons while Dr. Important built up a small practice that made him so instantly wealthy, he bought the damn building where only two years earlier he was just happy to be able to meet the rent. Oh, and did I mention his philandering and preoccupation with marijuana? He certainly gave new meaning to the expression high-and-mighty.
    Anyway, here was Bernard M. Weiner driving around in his big BMW (just so he could show off his vanity plates boasting the same initials as the car) while Irma drove around town in a red Gremlin she shared with her son. Good old Bernie picked up on a moment’s notice the instant he heard about a challenging new golf course somewhere in the Caribbean.Irma was just happy he didn’t hassle her when she flew down to Miami to visit her mother.
    Then a few months after their younger son Brad’s Bar Mitzvah, Dr. Putz left her for the proverbial young, shikseh nurse and moved to California, where fat, rich, Jewish, middle-aged men with blond babes were as indigenous as avocados. Irma cried for weeks, then cashed in her life insurance policy and returned to college. It took years, but eventually she got her master’s in social work, found gainful employment, put her sons through college, then law school, married them off to two nice girls, baby-sat for her beautiful grandchildren, traveled, and occasionally had dinner with a nice widower she met at her granddaughter’s nursery school picnic.
    Then one day, good old Bernie’s on the phone, crying that his second wife left him. As did his third. Most of his money was gone, burned by a tax shelter deal that went bad. And now the ultimate blow? Test results showed conclusively he had lung cancer. What should he do?
    As far as I’m concerned, the guy got what he deserved, and I would have told him so. But Irma insisted he return to Long Island so she could care for him.
    I know. You think she’s a patsy. The Grand Martyr in the Fools’ Day Parade. But don’t be too quick to judge. What she really is, is wise. For in spite of her suffering, she came out on the other side of the experience having learned a valuable lesson. Bitterness only poisons the soul from which it stems. She would either be consumed whole by anger and resentment or move on.
    Irma chose “B,” which is one reason she will be found deserving of having eternal