Learning From Grief
Estimated reading time: 16 minutes, 33 seconds
911 Call to Rabbi Renee
As I walked towards the Pizza House Pizza Chef from the parking lot, my legs felt like lead, and each step took an eternity. The anticipation of savoring a mini pizza made me remember that the restaurant was formerly where my current building stands. Memories of the old establishment flooded my mind as I approached the new one. As I approached my building, I spotted Mike and Jon parking their car and waiting to cross the street. I thought of calling or texting Rabbi Renee, but it was already quite late, so I texted her instead.
Rabbi, do you have time for a quick call?
April 6, 8:45 pm
As we entered the apartment building, my iPhone rang, and it was Rabbi Renee.
“Rabbi Renee, how are you? My sons are here. Can I put you on speakerphone?”
Despite my physical and emotional weakness, I explained what Dr. Strair had revealed to us.
“She’s coming home soon for hospice, and she only has a few weeks left to live.”
The news shocked the Rabbi. She expressed her disbelief and admiration for Jan’s strength in fighting cancer. Even the boys were shocked by the news.
While they spoke to the Rabbi, I tried to eat, but my taste buds vanished.
“We need to discuss how we will tell her tomorrow,” I interjected.
“With COVID restrictions, only I can be with her.”
“Rabbis are always allowed in the hospital,” the Rabbi reminded me.
Jon added, “Dr. Strair said he would work with Dr. Saksena to allow Mike and me to be there.”
I couldn’t recall much of what happened during the phone call after Dr. Strair said hospice was the only option, but I accepted what Jon had said. We all agreed to coordinate with the two doctors to give Jan the support she needed when she heard the news.
“I couldn’t do this without the three of you,” I said.
“I love Jan, your sons, and you; we will all be there to help you!” the Rabbi replied.
As the call ended, Mike and Jon left. I tried to sleep, but the news had left me restless. Just three days ago, I was sure Jan was on the road to recovery.
“Her voice was strong and confident, like the day we met,” I thought, wondering what had changed in just seventy-two hours.
I lay in bed, unable to cry, but I repeated to myself that I must be fully present for Jan. I must love her more now than ever.
Honey, You Are Coming Home
As I walked into the hospital to visit with Jan, I knew I had to be strong. I couldn’t reveal to her that she was going into hospice care, as I was not skilled at hiding my emotions, and it would be particularly challenging today. Suppressing my feelings, I greeted her with a smile, though tears flowed.
“I’m happy to see you, but I’m tired of the hospital. I can’t wait until I’m home with you,” Jan said, looking at me with a hopeful expression.
I leaned in and kissed her lips, feeling my heart break at the thought of what would come.
The medical team arrived soon after to give Jan another blood transfusion. I stepped aside to make room, but the small hospital room felt overcrowded, with the bed occupying most of the space and limited seating. I wondered how we would fit everyone in when we told Jan about hospice.
I sat beside her as the transfusion began, handing her a milkshake to enjoy. “This is so good!” she exclaimed, a faint smile on her lips.
“I love you,” I whispered, feeling helpless as I watched her frail body struggle.
After lunch, Jan drifted off to sleep, and I anxiously watched the clock, waiting for 2 pm when we had planned to meet with her sons and Rabbi Renee.
“Did you have a good nap?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
As I stood up to stretch, I saw Jan’s sons Mike and Jon walking down the hallway, and my stomach dropped to my ankles. I had to keep the truth from Jan for a little longer.
“It’s my sons!” Jan exclaimed, a spark of joy in her eyes.
“I was able to get them in today as a special treat for you,” I said, trying to sound cheerful, even though my heart was heavy.
Jon sat on her right side and Mike on the other. Under different circumstances, this would have been a joyous reunion. Rabbi Renee walked in just as they did.
“Jan, how are you feeling?” the Rabbi asked, her warm smile bringing hope to the room.
“This is a real surprise. My sons and my Rabbi!” Jan said, her voice filled with joy.
I stepped towards the doorway, taking a deep breath to control my emotions. In a few moments, Jan would hear the news that she had only a few weeks left to live.
Dr. Saksena walked in, interrupting my thoughts. “It looks like you have a full house today! How are you feeling?” she asked, addressing Jan.
Jan smiled weakly, waiting for the news. “Jan, as I said, I consulted with Dr. Strair about the next steps,” Dr. Saksena said, sitting beside her.
Jan nodded, unaware of what was coming.
“What would you like to do if you were cancer-free?” Dr. Saksena asked, trying to lighten the mood.
“Finish rebuilding my office, travel, and spend time with my sons and husband,” Jan said, her voice filled with optimism.
“As you know, we have done three treatments, and the Lymphoma is still inside you and very aggressive. We cannot treat the Lymphoma because of COVID, and we cannot treat the COVID because of the Lymphoma. Unfortunately, we only have one option left. Our recommendation is hospice care,” Dr. Saksena said, her voice filled with empathy.
Jan looked straight ahead, and I wanted to hold her tightly, but I was sitting at the foot of the bed. “How much time do I have left?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Only a few weeks,” Dr. Saksena replied, her eyes filled with tears.
I tried to move closer to her, to hold her hand, but there wasn’t enough space. “OK. I know an agency that does hospice care,” Jan said, her voice calm.
“You are coming home or to my house,” Mike said, his voice filled with determination.
“Is there enough room?” Jan asked, her voice filled with concern.
“Mike and I have already started talking to the hospice team in the hospital,” Jon said, trying to reassure her.
“Home is where you need to be, honey. Home with all of us,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
Dr. Saksena left, and we discussed logistics, but my mind was in a haze. All I could think about was how I would live without the love of my life.
After an hour, everyone left except for me. I sat beside Jan, holding her hand, and told her how much I loved her. Jan was serene and had accepted hospice much more quickly than I had.
As I left Jan to go home in the evening, I stood in the parking deck and wept openly. When I looked at my phone, I saw a text message from Dr. Strair.
“Please convey my best wishes to Janice and your family. I hope they find peace and comfort during this time.”
April 7, 6:05 pm.
“God grant me the strength to love Jan more than ever and help her find peace and comfort,” I screamed as I got into the car, feeling like my heart was breaking into a million pieces.
After almost 48 years, I recently lost my wife, Jan Lilien. Like The Little Prince, Jan and I believed that “The most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or touched, they are felt with the heart.” This blog is a collection of my random thoughts on love, grief, life, and all things considered.
