Finding Myself in Fashion Read Online Free Page B

mother teared up as we walked through the stone gates of the sixteenth-century Ramu Synagogue, the oldest in Kraków. There we met an old Yiddish-speaking man in a yarmulke. He told us there used to be tens of thousands of Jews living in Kraków. Today, fewer than a thousand remain. The courtyard of the synagogue was filled with tombstones. Itwas quiet, cold, and lonely. I wept silently for all Jews, and for family I’d never known. Those buried at the synagogue were fortunate to have marked graves; those who perished at the camps never did. I remembered my mother’s story about a town near hers where all the tombstones in the Jewish cemetery had been torn down and made into sidewalks.
    Back in Warsaw that night, I was violently ill, likely the result of food poisoning. Just as she had when I was a little girl, my mum stayed up with me, a familiar worried look on her face. In the morning, a doctor arrived to give me some anti-nausea pills for the flight home. He reminded my mother that fifty-five years ago that day, on September 1, 1939, war broke out in Poland. My mother looked at the gold signet ring she had worn all those years and remembered that on that day, fifty-five years ago, her brother had given her that ring. This was the fifty-fifth anniversary of the day her life changed forever. This was also the day she would leave Poland with a new sense of herself, and at peace with her past.

NEW
BEGINNINGS
    We’ve all heard that it’s darkest before the dawn. It was a proverb I clung to with all the faith I could muster when my marriage ended. The rug had been pulled out from under me, and my entire belief system was shaken. Dark days, indeed. But as the new millennium dawned, I started picking up the pieces of my shattered life. Despite the inspiring example my parents had set for me, I had to discover for myself what it takes to forge ahead. And I did. By seeking out a new country retreat and briefly returning to my original passion, I began to remember who I really was.

THE BUBBLE BURSTS
    I ACTUALLY THOUGHT I had it all—supportive husband, fantastic kids, brilliant career, beautiful city house, cozy country home—when, in January 1998, Denny dropped a bomb: He suddenly and unexpectedly told me he was leaving our marriage. He gave me little more than a couple of weeks to digest the news.
    I should have seen it coming. Exactly one year earlier, in January 1997, after nearly two decades with CHUM, Denny found out that his Magee in the Morning radio show had been axed—his position was terminated. His frustration mounted as he tried to find another job. For the first time in our eighteen-year relationship, my ever-positive husband admitted that he was discontented. I was desperately worried, and pleaded with him to tell me what was wrong and how I could help.
    One cold Friday afternoon, after I had just come home from my first trip back to St. John’s, Newfoundland, in over twenty years—a cathartic experience that reminded me how much I’d grown and how far I had come—Denny finally told me he was “ready to talk.” The girls had a couple of friends over, and their laughter as they ran through our big old house jarred with my anxiety over what I was about to hear.
    Denny took me into the bedroom, closed the door, and sat me down on the bed. My heart was beating like crazy.
    â€œI guess you realize that I’ve been very unhappy for some time now,” he said solemnly.
    â€œYeah, honey, I know. I want to help you so much. It’s the work thing, isn’t it?” I asked.
    â€œNo. It’s more than that. It’s the relationship.”
    â€œThe relationship?” I retorted. I had no idea what he meant.
    â€œYeah. I don’t want to be in the relationship anymore. I’ve decided I don’t want to be married anymore. I want to leave.”
    My heart plummeted. “But surely you just need to get away for a while—go on a trip, take