In an earlier blog (August 7), I wrote about the witty and perceptive couple that told me the secret of their successful, long-term marriage.  This is a sad post-script to that story; but first I’ll take a step back. Anna and Maury lived in the building where I worked. I had known them for years but only casually, nodding to each other on the street and exchanging pleasantries. At the time of my mother’s impending death, they must have noticed my anguished appearance and invited me to their home for dinner. It was a wonderful evening, filled with old world charm. Anna and Maury were Austrian and spoke with a slight accent.  Anna had been a student of Anna Freud and Maury was a college professor.   Entering their apartment was like stepping into a time machine, travelling back to Vienna in the 1930’s; it was as if I had entered the Freud museum only to find people living there.  The apartment was lined with book shelves.  There were so many books, in fact, that there were double rows of books on each shelf.  There were artifacts and sculptures and statues around the living room. The thing that made the biggest impression on me were the windows, how clean they were. There were so clear that I almost thought there was no pane of glass. They served tea and pfieffermusens. Maury told me corny jokes like:” What comes between vier and sechs?” The joke is vier is German for the number 4 and sechs is the number 6 but in English it sounds like what comes between fear and sex.   The answer funf, 5, is supposed to be funny.  I enjoyed many delightful evenings at their home, distracting me from the pain in my life. When my mother died, I went into a tailspin and lost contact with them, and with just about everyone else. It took all my strength to continue working.  After I emerged from my grief, I called them only to hear bad news.  Anna had been hit by a car crossing Queens Blvd.  She was alive but in critical condition. I immediately froze, my instinct was to offer help but I couldn’t.  I had just come through the agony of caring for a dying mother and I didn’t have the emotional energy to go through it again, at least not so soon. When Maury didn’t ask for help, I rationalized that since he hadn’t called me to ask for my help,  they didn’t want it. I was wrong.  They never spoke to me again. It took me years and lots  of therapy to forgive myself for being selfish, for not wanting to read their mind and for having put my needs first and abandoning them in their time of need .