by Rebecca Adams
Life was kind to them — they travelled abroad together, spent summers at beach clubs and laughed over weekly Friday night family dinners. But there were also curveballs. When my Bubbie was 45 years old, my grandfather passed away, leaving her scrambling to raise four kids on her own. Ruthie was always around to help — though she too became a widow of sorts when her beloved ex-husband passed away three years later. Their husbands had been taken from them, but they had each other. Bubbie always called Ruthie her “soulmate.” As I dug the shovel into the mound of dirt at Ruthie’s burial, the pain I felt was not for my late great-aunt, who led a long, fulfilling life surrounded by people who loved her. The pain I felt was for my Bubbie, who now has to live out the rest of her days without her sister.