During his final stay in the hospital, I sang our favorite songs to him, read to him and prayed with him, filling him with my energy and light, knowing for certain that God would endlessly replenish the supply. Girded with the strength of prayer, I stormed Heaven, certain that I could bring Michael back. I was frequented by phantoms of “what if”. What if he didn’t make it? , I silently screamed to the winter darkness outside of his window. Day after day, I awoke, wondering if this was the day when the transplant would take place. Night after night, the hollow space in my chest grew as I slowly resigned myself to the possibility of a devastating outcome. We were reminded by the staff that this was, “after all, the holiday season and there were many more accidents” that could bring us our miracle. Feeling like a ghoul, wishing for someone’s death, I would have given my life if it would have brought Michael back to his. I wrote copious amounts in my journal–letters to God, to Michael, to his anticipated donor and family. I would look in the bathroom mirror and ask myself, “Does this look like the face of a woman about to lose her husband?” The answer was always no…..until it became yes. I designed elaborate scenarios in which Michael would return home to a magnificent party attended by family and friends. Instead it became a celebration of his life that was his memorial service on Christmas Eve morning. Present were many of the people with whom Michael had renewed a relationship. They spoke of the healing that had taken place between them.
Even though Michael was under heavy sedation much of the time, I could feel him communicating with me. At five one morning, I stumbled bleary-eyed into his room to find that his right hand which had been swollen and wrapped around with an IV tube was resting in the sign language symbol for “I love you.” It had not been in that position the night before and no one would have known to place his hand like that. It was our special message to each other, when words were not enough. Love transcends limitations.
For one precious week, he appeared to be returning to me, weaning off the ventilator, opening his exquisite blue, if bloodshot eyes, responding to the doctor’s requests by widening them, turning his head to the sound of familiar voices. From this highest peak, he took a deep plummeting dive. The site of the tracheostomy began gushing blood, which necessitated blood transfusions, which caused fluid overload, bringing on additional kidney dialysis, which sent his blood pressure into a tailspin.
On the evening of December 20th, I received a call from our friend Ellen who had a message for me. She had been tucking her 5 year old daughter into bed and asked her to “Say a prayer for Mommy’s friend Michael who is sick in the hospital.” Kaitlyn turned her innocent little face heavenward and whispered, “God, Mommy’s friend Michael is dying. Will you bring him back?” Now recall, that Ellen never used the word “dying”. Kaitlyn listened carefully and then turned to her mother and replied, “God said yes.”
Naturally I took this to mean that Michael would miraculously survive this anguishing experience. The next morning after a few tortured hours of sleep, I discovered the true intent of that message. Exhausting all methods at their disposal, a doctor approached me and asked me to make the most heart-rending decision I have ever faced, but one that left me with no other choice. He assured me that Michael would feel no pain as they disconnected the machines that had sustained him for the last month and a half. God had indeed brought Michael back, immersed in the love of those who stood around his bed and those who held vigil with us in the hallway. At the moment his heart ceased beating, I was filled with an immense amount of what I can only describe as pure, unadulterated Love (with a capital L), as if all that I had poured into Michael, assuring him that when the liver arrived, his body would be ready to receive it and the transplant would be successful, was being transferred back into me, multiplied a hundred-fold. Just the night before, I had told him that if he had the will to continue, I would be there with him every step of the way, but if he needed to let go, our son Adam and I would be all right. I know that he needed permission to step out of his wounded body. When all was said and done, he had indeed received a transplant; an entire body transplant.
After the last of the machines was removed from the room and all of the invasive equipment used in a desperate attempt to ” tune him up” for his transplant, was taken from his body, I was able to wrap my arms around him for the first time since he was admitted to the hospital. A warmth emanated from him as if he was hugging me back. What an incredible gift I received as all of those pain-filled days had led to this moment. In an instant, my identity changed from “wife-partner-caregiver” to “bereaved spouse”. What was I to do with that realization? I had no map to guide me on this unexpected part of my life’s journey. On auto-pilot, I went about the business of preparing for the next few days, weeks, months and years without the person I had counted on growing old with.
And now I write, ensconced in Michael’s office on the second floor of our home. His spirit fills that room; in the stuffed animals, colorful hats, fanciful wall hangings and a sign that reads “Imaginarium” on the door. My parting promise to Michael was that I will raise Adam to be a good man and that I will speak unceasingly about the importance of organ donation, so that other families need not suffer as we had.
When Michael died, he was enrolled as a seminary student, on his way to becoming an Interfaith Minister. In a heartbeat came my decision to continue his studies and become ordained in his place. I completed two years worth of work in 5 months with what I know to be Divine and husbandly intervention. On June 13, 1999, I became ordained with the rest of the class at the awe-inspiring cathedral of St. John the Divine in New York City. With his photo sitting on the pulpit, Michael’s spirit was ordained as well. We have been a team for nearly fifteen years and will continue to be so. I miss him deeply and although we have conversations daily, I long to hold his hand and hug him endlessly. I know he is my strength in Heaven and I am his voice here on Earth. One of my nicknames for him was “Dancing Bear”. Now I know he is joyfully dancing with angels. “scrubs” cared for him with the utmost of compassion and proficiency.
Rev. Edie Weinstein-Moser
