This morning I reread the article I wrote for The Link’s Rosh Hashanah edition last year. In it I mentioned that I was afraid of the future. Interestingly at that time I did not know that my beloved Mordechai would be diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer two weeks later.
I still cannot fathom how it is possible that he is not here. We were one. We shared everything, crying together, giggling together, making faces at each other across the mechitza when we thought no one saw us. On one Purim, dressed in our costumes—he a basketball player wearing our son Akiva’s shirt with the name Glick on the back and me dressed as a cheerleader—we threw the basketball across the mechitza (scandalous). That’s the way we were.
Within a very short period of time every part of my life changed. I needed to find a way to carry on with life alone. It has not been easy. I owe a great, enormous amount of thanks to my five wonderful children who have rallied around me. Their grief is great yet they reach out to me on almost a daily basis to check in. I include Naama as she is one of my children, and in her little way when I speak with her and she asks, “Mommy, where Tattie?” I respond by telling her how sad it is that he is now in Shamayim. She then points up to the sky as if to say, “I know where he is.” She is grieving as well.
Last week our daughter Malkie went to visit Naama at Maison Shalom. They had not seen each other in at least two years due to COVID. One of the residents of the home came over to Malkie and told her how much he missed “Tattie.” My Mordechai was everyone in the home’s Tattie. He was the hands-on father. What Malkie said that she thought the most beautiful was, here was a boy/“man” with special needs who had no hesitation to come over and tell her how sorry he was. She mentioned that “regular” people frequently avoid the subject when they see her. Chaim knew no “chachmos.” He said what he felt.
Are there lessons to be learned from losing someone who basically was your whole life? Of course—hold on to each moment, bad and good. Do not want to do something and then not do it. Don’t hold back on kissing, hugging and complimenting each other. Don’t hold back on discussing unpleasant subjects as well as all of the beautiful things that are shared. Remember when a disagreement takes place that this is the person that you chose to be your ezer kenegdo. Nothing is too difficult to deal with as long as it is done lovingly and respectfully. Listen but do not make decisions based upon what either his or her parents said. Do what you both together think should be done. I think that these are some of the things that my Mordechai would have advised.
There are moments when I am really annoyed at him. When there is some “thing” flying above my pillow. Where is he to kill it? I never cut our roasts or a turkey. He made the most amazing deli platters; they truly looked professional. My Mordechai, the butcher’s son, was an expert. Now it is embarrassing to try to replicate the way he used to do it. When I drive and want to share with him that the price of gas has gone down; when a beautiful red cardinal appears on our back deck; when I need him to know that we are expecting several more great-grandchildren within the next few months. My heart bleeds from all of the moments that I want to tell him something. Please do not think that I am crazy if you have ever passed me while driving and you see me talking to myself. I am actually having a conversation with him.
Yes, life moves on but for me it will not and cannot ever be the same.
Many in the community have been very kind to me, but I must first thank my Jewish Link family who puts up with me on a daily basis. I hope that they know how much I love them, as well as my devoted readers who are kind enough to write and call. I am forever grateful for some of my Mordechai’s “buddies” who took him under their wing at Beth Abraham and continue to check up on me, for our old friends (I assume that you know who you are) and our newer friends who have been so kind and patient and understanding, and to the wonderful Beth Abraham rabbonim and their wives whom we had various connections with prior to our move to Bergenfield and who are now considered family members.
Mordechai always told me that life was not meant to be easy; it is how we navigate it that makes the difference. My Mordechai, I am trying really hard. I know that he would want me to thank you all and I wish everyone a chatima v’chatima tova.
Nina Glick can be reached at [email protected].
