This piece was written by one of our dear readers—a woman with something real to say. Each month, we handpick the best submissions for Dear Reader because we’re after that PROVOKED bite: truth, intelligence, and heart. These stories come from women our age—women who’ve lived enough to know better and still care enough to tell it anyway. Because being seen and heard matters. Because storytelling is how we stitch ourselves to one another. And because when one woman speaks her truth, another finally recognizes her own. — Susan Dabbar, Editor-in-Chief

She planned two weddings while sirens blared and rockets flew. What she learned about fear, family, and refusing to let war write her story.

I smile, say hi, and repeat the words I use before every meeting: “In the event of an alarm, I’ll need to drop the call and go into my bomb shelter.”  

Shauna Lynn, whom I’m meeting for the first time, gives me a strange look and asks me to repeat myself, so I do. She says, “I’m sorry about what you’re going through.” I smile at her, appreciating that she acknowledges the situation, and I feel that we’ve created a connection. 

During the call, the siren blares. I tell her we’ll reschedule. I have 45 seconds. I grab my little black dog, Max, snatch my phone and glasses, and, as calmly as possible, head to my bomb shelter.

It’s become routine, which is absurd.  

Fear washes over me as I check my phone to see where my girls are, ignoring the fact that they’re 28 and 30. Do they hear an alarm? Are they safe at home in their shelters?  I pray they aren’t driving and need to pull over, get out of their cars, and take cover.  Normal feelings for a mom worried about her kids.

We get the “all clear.” I can breathe again. My family is safe. I return to my computer.

I have deadlines to deliver marketing content to women who count on me. I won’t let them down, but the responsibility weighs on me.  

I can’t hide in bed under my comforter. There are bills to pay, so I shut out the world and attempt to focus, with one ear listening to the news on the television. They report a siren, and I glance at my phone.  

How close is it to me?  There’s an app that shows where the rockets are heading. Sometimes I get an early warning alarm and have extra time to get to the shelter. When did having time to use the bathroom become a luxury?    

I live in a constant state of high alert. Every noise makes me jump. Is that a motorcycle or an alarm? Max stays close to me, watching to see if everything is okay. From a distance, I hear the shelling. The sounds of war are noisy. I take a breath, close my eyes, and offer a little prayer.  

Life continues with a new definition of “normal.” 

There’s fear listening to the daily news as each morning brings the death of another soldier. Although I don’t know this 19-year-old boy, tears fall, and my heart breaks for his family and friends. I give myself time to let the sadness wash over me. Depression can become all-consuming, but I won’t let it. I turn my thoughts to the joy of my daughters’ weddings.  

Planning Weddings Through Uncertainty

I teeter between needing to plan and worrying about an unknown future. My daughter Orlee sets her wedding date for August 2023. I’m excited to be the mother of the bride. It’s a joyful time, choosing the venue, shopping for dresses, dreaming of the big day.  

She wants to give fans with her name, the groom’s name, and the date. It’s a simple decision, but uncertainty pops up. What if the situation worsens and the wedding gets postponed? Can we change the fan’s date with a marker? Small details knot my stomach. I put it in perspective. It’s not a crisis. We order the fans. 

The date approaches with another bump in the road—a huge pothole.

Two weeks before the wedding, my sister, Debra, frantically calls at 11 p.m. Her flight is canceled. She might not make it to Israel, and the gut punch is devastating. “Don’t worry,” I say, “I’ll stay on the phone with you until you get a new flight. You’ll be here for the wedding.”

As the big sister, it’s my job to step up and support her, even if I’m crumbling inside. By 2 a.m., she has round-trip tickets to Orlee’s wedding.

My daughter Leah plans her wedding for February 2024. Will her husband be on reserve duty? There’s no wedding without the groom, but no one knows when he has to serve. My daughter is suffering, and I have no answers.  

We were buying cheese when Leah got the call saying her fiancé would be out of the Army for their wedding. The huge smile, tears of joy, and relief in Leah’s eyes are imprinted in my memory. The burden of uncertainty, lifted away.

But is it really gone, or temporarily set aside until something else surfaces?

Finding Resilience In the Unknown

I feel resilient now that I’m over 60. I have a voice that can no longer be silenced. I think about the struggles I’ve faced—overcoming infertility, moving to a foreign country and leaving family and friends, working in a male-dominated industry, and starting a business. All of it brought me to where I am today. 

I’m also not walking the path alone. I have sisters, friends, other women who are there if I reach out. We often feel isolated instead of tapping into the strength of those around us, women who will happily share the burden, listen with empathy, and guide if necessary. 

I rescheduled the Zoom call with Shauna Lynn. She shared that before our previous meeting, she thought about her busy week and how overwhelmed she felt. When I dropped the call, she took a few moments to put things into perspective. She felt she could now overcome her obstacles. “I see you. I hear you. You’re not alone,” she said. She couldn’t stop the sirens, but she did send me strength and support.  

It’s only a matter of time before things escalate again. When I cry for another 19-year-old soldier killed in action. When Max is glued to my side, looking for reassurance. When driving to the supermarket to get eggs becomes a life-threatening activity. Or when I’m running down the stairs to the shelter at 2 a.m.  

For now, I enjoy the quiet and whisper a prayer for never again.