My Mordechai, where are you? I wake in the morning and you are not next to me. I go to sleep at night needing you to be there so that we can feel each other’s warmth. Several times in the past week I thought that I heard you and twice reached over to the telephone to call you.

We always said that life makes no sense and you always told me that it didn’t matter as long as we were together and we believed in Hashem’s plan. A plan that is not meant to be understood. Yet now we are not together physically. I am so worried about you. Are you ok? Are you scared? Are you alone? I cannot imagine what it is like for you and since we were one person for so many years I have no idea how to move forward and I am hoping that wherever you are it is better.

You have blessed me by leaving our five amazing children to care for me. What about you? Who is caring for you? Throughout each day since shiva all of our children call me several times a day to make sure that I realize that I am not alone. They also know that there is no one in the world that can replace their father in my life. I struggle with the thought that I must be strong for them in order to tend to the horrible void which each one of them is feeling. You, My Mordechai, were a father par excellence. You loved each of our children unconditionally. Maybe one hour before you left us, Akiva told you that you would never “have to worry about Mommy as they would take care of her” and you said “Yes, I know, thank you.”

Mordechai, where are you? I need you each moment. I am forcing myself to plow through each day. The phone rings incessantly and I cannot answer it. Texts and emails go unanswered. I am not ready to face those who knew us as a couple or you as their rabbi, their friend, their therapist. So many are mourning and I am not ready to comfort them because I am so in need of comfort myself. Our marriage is hard to describe to the average person.

Two kids who met at the ages of 16 and 17. We defied all odds by marrying with little money, little direction, not a good deal of parental enthusiasm. We had the determination through the love which we felt and continued to grow and grow that we were going to make this marriage into a magical wonderland. That is what we accomplished through determination and hard work.

We giggled and laughed at things no one else probably would have found funny. We insisted against the times of the seventies that having a special needs daughter would not deter us from making her a vibrant part of our family, we opened our home to everyone no matter their religious or sexual orientation. We taught our children the importance of honesty and integrity and you, My Mordechai, were the master of these qualities. Only I can tell the story when we were so young at the airport as you put a quarter in the telephone booth and all of the coins that had been inserted in the booth started pouring out. Who but you, My Mordechai, would have called the operator to ask her how to give the money back. It was you, My Mordechai, who was so much more understanding of people that at times would be real nudges. You convinced me of the need of being accepting and tolerant of so many.

I ask you now, My Mordechai, how am I supposed to go on? I know what you would want but somehow I need to know that you are ok as well. I am so lonely for my everything. It is hard to wake in the morning and go to sleep at night. Thank you for giving me our life and the five caring and loving children that we created. I will think of you with every breath that I take.

Your Dvorah.

Nina Glick can be reached at [email protected].