"Thank You for Everything."

The Soul's Farewell

***WARNING: THERE IS SOME BAD LANGUAGE IN THIS ARTICLE. I APOLOGIZE IN ADVANCE***

When I eulogized my wife in Israel, I mentioned this, but I haven’t written it yet. Right now, it has come to the surface of my heart, and so I feel the need to talk about it now.

The day before my wife died, we were both out of it. She was getting weaker and weaker, to the point where she wasn’t even able to stand on her own anymore. I was at my peak of frustration with the hospital because it was said multiple times that she needed to have physical or occupational therapy as regularly as possible, but at that point, she hadn’t had a therapist come in for 3 days.

My frustration was growing with her personally as well. It seemed like she wasn’t really fighting at all. She was just letting things happen to her. That wasn’t my wife. My wife fought for everything she felt was worth fighting for. Apparently, she didn’t feel that her health was worth fighting for, so I fought for her, as any husband would (or should) do.

A few days before that, at one point, I had to take hold of her bed, get right in her face and say “baby, I can’t be the only one who wants to get out of here!” I still remember the look on her face; confused, then tearful.

A few things happened the day before she died that have me convinced in retrospect that she knew.

The first thing that happened was that she suddenly was obsessed with standing up. She insisted that her father, who was in the room at the time, and I pull her up and help her stand up. We tried a few times, but she couldn’t do it. After the third time, I noticed her heart rate shooting up and told her we should probably stop before she passes out. I was happy that she finally felt more of an urgency to get stronger, but it was also day 10 at this point. I didn’t know what to think. My brain was just focused on getting her back to North Carolina; whether in a hospital there, or to get in-home care.

The second thing that happened was in the same vein of urgency. My father had texted us to tell us he and my mom would FaceTime and pray with us later that day, and that he would let us know a few minutes before. Once we knew that, I decided to order some lunch for myself. She couldn’t swallow at this point, so I couldn’t order food for her, but I kept being reminded to make sure I ate. It was so easy to forget to do that in that kind of a situation. That day, I remembered. I ordered some Chinese food to be delivered. Once I got the text that the food was just a few minutes away, I told Olga I’d be right back, and went down to the lobby.

The way this New Jersey hospital is constructed, to get from where we were to the lobby, you have to get on an elevator, down to a certain floor, walk across a couple of hallways, get onto another elevator, and then go down until you reach the lobby. The whole trip took about 7 minutes one way.

So I arrived at the lobby, and I saw that my delivery driver was 2 minutes away. Then I get a call. It’s Olga. I’m slightly panicked because she hasn’t even been able to use her phone that well lately. Why is she using it now? I answer it, and the conversation goes like this:

Me: Yeah, baby? What’s wrong?

Olga:… Babe?

Me: Yes, baby? Do you need me?

Olga: Yes, please. Please come quickly.

I then run back to the elevator, up to the first stop, run down the hallways, into the other elevator, and finally up to the floor she’s on. I get to the room, and see her laying on the bed looking right at me.

Me: What’s wrong, baby?

Olga: Dad said he was going to call us to pray.

Me: … I… I know, baby. He said he’d let us know when he’s ready. Did he text you?

Olga: …No.

Her short term memory wasn’t the best since she was put on the steroid treatment, but what was different about this was the urgency in her voice; as if she was frightened that we would miss it. I reassured her that my dad would call soon and that we’ll be able to pray with him and my mom. I then told her I’d be right back to get the food, and that I promised it would be fast.

Once I came back up, about 10 minutes later, my dad texted and asked us if we were ready. We were. And we prayed and worshipped together. Afterward, I saw the boys playing in the background. My mom asked if Olga wanted to say hi to them, and she shook her head and turned away, fighting tears. Again, I didn’t know what to think, but I chalked it up to her not wanting them to see her in that state, which made sense to me.

The last thing that happened was that night. Like all the other nights in the hospital room, we both got very little sleep. She was constantly asking me to shift her one way or the other. She wasn’t comfortable. The fact that it was very difficult for her to move around on her own, and that she was hooked up to a few machines did not help one bit. So, every few minutes—sometimes every few seconds—it was “babe, sorry, can you turn me this way?” “Sorry, baby, can you pull me up.” “Babe, can you pull my arm over?”

That last night was no different.

As I was tucking her in for the night, it began. She asked me to pull her in one direction. Once I did, I asked if that was better, and she said, “…no… Ok, let’s try this…” but she wasn’t sure exactly what would help. She was done with that hospital. We both were. At one point, I began trying something on my own. As I reached down to move her body, my hand was briefly by her face. She quickly leans her head over and kisses my hand. As sleep deprived and delirious as I was, that short kiss was a brief oasis. Just a quick reminder of us; us without the beeps and needles and nurses and doctors. That kiss made me pause and just look at her.

She then mumbled something. I didn’t hear her at first, but I assumed it was an instruction on how to move her on the hospital bed. I leaned in closer and said, “what was that, baby?” She then shook her head and said something that I realize now was her goodbye to me. She said, “no, no. Just… thank you for everything.”

When I tell you I had no idea she would die that night, I really mean it. In my mind, we’re going home tomorrow regardless. I had already purchased our plane tickets. Two first class seats, right in the front so that she wouldn’t have to maneuver too much on the plane. I had already sourced in-home care so that she could have professionals over on a regular basis helping her. I had cleared my schedule so I could take care of her and be there as much as humanly possible.

We were going home, and that was that. I was sick of this shit. Sick of the delays, the lack of communication, the round and round with certain staff. I hated that we missed both Ezra and Judah’s birthdays. It was time, damnit. It was fucking time.

Excuse my language, but that is what was going through my head that day. Little did I know, it was time. Just not the time I thought it was.

There are other things that happened that evening, but I wrote about them in previous pieces which you’re more than welcome to check out.

But all that to say, her telling me, “thank you for everything” is what I meant in my song, The End of Time when I say:

Even in your final hours

When you told me you were grateful

That was your soul’s farewell

And my song to you was mine

She was telling me goodbye.

A few hours later, in the middle of the night, I woke up and began singing the worship song, I Am the God that Healeth Thee, and praying over her. Then I took her hand, and a few minutes later, she died. I was completely in a daze as the CPR team rushed in and tried to revive her. I felt like I was hit by a train. But I believe there was a part of me that knew what was about to happen, and took over the rest of me. I really believe that. I believe G-d Himself, or one of His messengers, woke me up and instructed me to see her off. Her last memory on this plane of existence was of her husband singing to her, praying over her, and holding her hand. I take some consolation in that.

But right now… right now, all I can think about is, “thank you for everything.”

If I could go back to that moment, knowing what I know now, this is what I would say:

“Thank you for everything, baby. Thank you for making me a man, and giving me two beautiful boys. We’re going to be just fine. You rest, and I’ll see you soon.”