Finding myself in the Middle East

Monday, August 23, 2010

To Life

We have no living grandfathers between us, which left room for a lot of debate regarding our son's name. But even as we decided and talked about it and eventually consulted the Amshinover Rebbe regarding it, the whole time this strange, unbidden thought kept rising in my mind, despite my squashing it down...why are we bothering to think of names when it's obviously going to be Moshe?

Moshe is my father's name, and two weeks after the bris I can tell you that my baby's name is not Moshe. Which is good. Because it means that my father survived the hospital's attempt to kill him.

The details are not even important. I mean they are, to me, to my family, but it's a long story that can be summed up by starting with My chronically ill father was rushed to the hospital with a collapsed lung and have in the middle My father can't be taken off the respirator and needs a trach and end with The hospital only gave him 1500 calories a day and NO FLUIDS and he wasted down to a skeletal 110 pounds on his 6"2 frame and almost died.

My baby was 2 weeks old when my mother called with the news that my father probably had a stroke. He was completely unresponsive. Or in the words of my eloquent 5 year old nephew, "Hey, is Sabba dead? Because he looks kinda dead." Outdoorsman and I were trying to figure out how to get the baby a passport in case I had to rush back. I could not stop crying.

It turned out to be fever and infection brought on from severe dehydration because, you know, who would have thought that he would totally need fluids and food?
I am flooded with relief and gratitude that he is still here with us.


My mother has dedicated her life to keeping his body and soul together. She is unbelievable. She keeps him alive with sheer dedication and the force of her love.
But when I spoke to her while we thought that he had a stroke and they were transfering him to another hopsital, I heard a weariness in her voice that I had never heard before. They were trying to put an IV in him and couldn't. They tried a central line instead. She said, "What should I do? How long should I let them torture him like this?"

Dear G-d. I know he is a special soul and I know that life is intrinsicly important. And I also know that just having him here on this earth is incredibly important to me...but how long is he to be tortured like this? He has been sick for over twenty years. He has slowly, painfully, lost everything. How long is he to be tortured?

Most of you are probably open-mouthed at my callousness. But that's because you just don't get it. Thank G-d that you don' get it.

He is very weak now, but my mother just called to tell me that he managed a smile for her.

I am so relieved.



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