I fell in the hall recently while using my cane. The cane flew up in the air as I tumbled to the ground. I heard the thud of my head and felt the pain from my pacemaker. Falling out of control like that was a new and scary situation.

I called my son, Mike, to take me to the hospital.

At the hospital, they took my name and reason for coming. We waited while many people entered, including sick children. Mike went to get me a drink. When it was my time to be seen, a man wheeled me into a room. I was lucky to get a room as the overcrowded emergency room was lined up with patients on trolleys.

A nurse came in and helped me into a hospital gown. Then I waited until I had blood tests and a CAT scan of my head. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be; I had to keep my head in the tube for about three minutes.

Back in my emergency room, two women rolled in a huge machine. They took many tests and told me to stop asking questions. Finally, they sent me home with directions on how to use a cane. Mike told them we were working on getting me more home health care.

Once I arrived home, I thought about my late husband, Adam. He started working at the age of 7, transporting diamonds on the trolley into Boston to help his family make a living. All his life, he was a provider. How sad he must have felt when he became ill and was not able to do what he was used to doing—taking care of people.

I remembered my dad coming home after his cancer operation. We all gathered around and tried to help while we prayed that he would recover.

I remembered Dad coming home after working in the junkyard when I was a child. I watched him put coal in the furnace, his face lit up from the flame. I watched while he washed his hands up to his elbow before majestically standing at the head of the Shabbat table and saying the beautiful Kiddish prayer, the aroma of chicken soup and noodles wafting through the air.

All the workday worries had melted away. Washed and dressed for Shabbat, we were all transformed.

Vayevarch Hashem et yom hashevii vayekedash oto … “And G‑d blessed the seventh day and made it holy because on it He rested from all His work,” Dad recited aloud. On that special day, we felt G‑d’s blessings.

Now, many years have passed, and I am thanking G‑d. I am saying those same prayers and timeless words.

As I prepare the Shabbat table with my Shabbat candles, I pray that I will be able to take care of myself for a long time. The aroma of chicken soup wafts into the air, and I say the familiar words of Kiddush.

I circle my hands around the candles as I say what Bubby would say: “G‑d willing.”

The illusion of control has shattered. I am in G‑d’s hands.

I watch the candles and the verse comes to my mind, “For the soul of man is G‑d’s lamp.”1