My wife was a born communicator. She was the best listener I’ve ever met. She’d smile, her eyes would shine and she’d pay attention with her entire body.
Later, she’d remember everything we talked about. She cared and it showed. Not just for me but for everybody.
It’s one of the reasons I fell so hard in love with her.
Ellen was a natural.
She wasn’t just a good listener, she was a good speaker and a fantastic writer. I used to have her edit all of my college papers before submitting them. I couldn’t believe how eloquently she could write. She would sit with a pen and an hour later have a masterpiece.
Everyone loved talking to my wife: Friends, family, colleagues and often random strangers who’d pour their hearts out to her.
Anytime we went to a social event, I knew when I left her alone for a minute that when I returned she’d be laughing and talking and having a great time with someone. (Unlike when she left me. I’d either be hiding out in a corner or having stilted awkward conversations with people stuck at the table with me.)
In her last few months Ellen said some things I never want to forget. Here are a few:
“I’m afraid.” This one breaks my heart and brings tears to my eyes. It was one of two times in 29 years that Ellen told me she was afraid. The other time was just before she had her lung surgery a few months earlier. But this second time it was different. She knew she was dying from cancer and things were getting worse every day.
We were lying in bed holding hands. She was unable to sleep due to the constant pain from the tumors in her spine and breast. The breast mass was getting larger and more painful every day. She was terrified of needing a mastectomy. She had multiple procedures coming up. It was the night before we decided to call hospice. And I couldn’t make it better. I laid beside her and wept while telling her I loved her. I told her I would not let anyone hurt her anymore and I would be with her every step of the way no matter what happened.
“Do you think I don’t know how much you love me and that you’d do anything for me? Shhh. I know.” After one of the many times I tried to tell Ellen that she was my one true love and that she brought color and joy to my world she stopped me with this.
“Don’t love me, get me out of here.” Although Ellen was massively drugged and only semi-conscious for brief moments during her final days in hospice, she still wanted to go home and fought with all her might to do so. When I realized I could never take her home, I tried to calm her by hugging her and telling her I loved her. With all of her strength, she put her hands on my chest, pushed me away and said this. Then she passed out. She never stopped fighting and her chutzpah made me smile – even close to the end.
“Don’t let the social worker or the chaplain near me.” Ellen was a former social worker. She thought most social workers were useless. Although Jewish, she was completely non religious and wanted nothing to do with a priest, rabbi or pastor. I intercepted them multiple times at the door to keep them away. I may have done too good of a job because after she died, they still didn’t talk to me.
“What color?” When we started in home hospice, Ellen was semi-conscious but delirious with pain. She hadn’t slept nor eaten for a week. Her entire family was here to say goodbye. We were watching her die before our eyes. Then after 48 hours of hospice (and liquid morphine), she opened her eyes, sat up in bed and started talking to us. The next day our sister-in-law Gigi said, “I bought some things for Ellen to eat. I got jello and soup and pudding.” I explained that Ellen had not eaten in a week. Nothing appealed to her and we weren’t going to force her to eat. Plus I’d already tried all of these foods and had an entire kitchen full of other food that no longer appealed to her. Gigi said, “Is it OK with you if I just asked her?” She told Ellen she brought some goodies to eat and started listing them. When she got to jello, Ellen perked up and said “What color?” and then ate the red one after not eating anything for days.
“You need to get rid of that Tshirt. Don’t let anyone else see you in that.” Even though she was barely conscious. when she knew her family and hospice were coming, Ellen wanted to make sure I didn’t wear my favorite
“Don’t fire the maid after I’m gone.” “I know you’ll want to save money and you think you can manage without her. Don’t do it. The house will be a total wreck in a week without me or her cleaning up after you.” She was right.
I’ll close with a line from a card I received from Robbie, a lifelong friend of Ellen’s who she loved dearly.
“My condolences on Ellen’s passing. She was wonderful.”
Yes she was.