Your life is normal. You are married, happily. You have a wife and two teenage children, a job, a house in the suburbs. Your wife has a job. The children are normal and healthy.
Then one day the soft earth falls from under your feet. You fall together with your wife; but the cancer is hers.
It has been creeping up, there were some symptoms, but they could have been anything, why think of the worst? Even the doctor was very blasé about the discomfort that she had.
And now it's too late, the operation is days away, preparations, people to be or not to be told, consultations in hushed voices. Two days after major surgery, the first dose of chemotherapy is poured into your wife's strained body.
It becomes a weekly or a monthly routine: you witness her weakness and suffering from the chemo, the CA test results, reams of information. Like the other husbands at their wives' sides, you guard her silently. You become experts, and novices listening to recommendations of healers, magicians, wonder diets and super drugs. Everyone knows someone who knew someone, who knew someone…
Optimism and/or realism, quality of life, length of life become vital dilemmas for ordinary people.
All the time the cancer seems to be in control, whether you like it or not, whether you know it or not. The situation deteriorates. She becomes smaller, weaker, more desperate to hold on to her life. You escort her quietly from one whim to another. Her family is also more desperate; they visit more often, sleep over.
You become one of the causes, unforgivable for your early mourning, your acceptance of fate, your perception of reality.
She fades, she slips away. Arrangements must be made, a memorable and dignified funeral, hundreds attend, a Jewish 'shiva,' the children are with their friends, there is tension with the in-laws.
Then it's over. Empty life unfolds. You go about your daily schedule, work and chores, there and back again; solitaire on the computer, waiting for the phone to ring; fuming at the angry in-laws.
A tombstone must be prepared, there's not much time; you don't want the shining marble slab. A friend tells you of an artisan. You visit him with your daughter. You decide with your children which rock will be laid and what words will chronicle her fifty years
To keep the family together you decide on Friday evening dinners together. The children are at ages that they are becoming more independent. After Shabbat dinner they go out with friends. You are alone. You watch television, fall asleep. The other side of the bed is still empty. The weeks go by. The months come and go. You realize that you need to come back to the world.
You want to move to a smaller house; you want to change your job. It's not time yet, but you start setting goals. The process is slow, one step at a time. The rhythm is yours, but it includes the needs of the children.
You see her in your dreams and your mind's eye as she was when she was ill, worn, weak and suffering. People tell you how they miss her, what a fine person she was, how she helped others. Even when she was aching from the chemo, she would listen to their problems; but they don't ask you how you are, what it is to be alone…
You start making decisions alone. For so long they've been a matter of consensus.
You alone listen to the children, bridge and buffer their problems. She was always so good at these things. You find that you are not thinking, "What would she have said or done?" You are thinking and doing what is right for you.
Time ripens; you meet a lady, the friend of a friend. She's in a similar situation in her life. You start dating; awkward 16 year olds, it's been a long time for both of you. There are considerations; for the children it's cheating on their dead mother, just as it was when my widowed father started dating.
You don't want to estrange the children, but you do want intimacy of your own. Gently and patiently you make your point. One girlfriend leads to another - you are still remolding your intimate self.
You are gathering strength. After years of considering the home and its needs, planning for this and saving for that, you find yourself more and more in the heart of your thoughts and considerations.
You spend money on equipment for your water sports. You find that the time you spend alone, reading, thinking, doing chores or going to the beach, becomes more satisfying. You become more confident in your decisions and your whims. At the same time you are able to touch your own feelings more easily.
You find strength in expressing sensitivity and no longer fear it.
You, look back to your teenage creative passion, now is the time to take it out of its packaging, dust it off and rediscover those parts of you that you didn't have time for for so long. You leave the mechanical job that suited your needs when she was ill.
You recall her as she was before the illness. It is sad she is gone. But you no longer have doubts as to whether you are doing the right thing in moving forwards.
Our passage in this world is short, if our alliances are true in themselves, if they are filled with love and mutual care and respect, we need not fear their terminations.
The love we have known never dies, the good experiences, the beautiful memories stay with us.
We can miss the people we were with in the past, but give to the people we are with in the present, and look forward to the future with optimistic realism.
With butterflies in you stomach you have set off on a new foot into the future, more in touch with your feelings, not knowing what will be, but ready for new love, new happiness and new sorrow.