Three Separations

by I J Shur

  “Let go a little,” she said. “I can hardly breathe. You don’t have to say anything—I understand on my own. I feel terrible. Let me go.”

  “Please, Rona, stay a little longer,” he begged.

  She rushed to the bathroom, knelt over the toilet, and vomited. He tried to hold her hair away from her face, but she pushed him.

  “Please,” she said. “Let me be alone. Give me a moment to breathe. Get out of here!”

  Udi looked at her back and couldn’t tell whether the trembling he saw was coming from her churning stomach or from the uncontrollable tears that shook her so.

  The woman he loved so much was on the floor in front of him and she was hurting, suffering. He wet a towel with some warm water, approached her, and held the towel to her tormented face. He filled a glass with water and gave it to her, and her lips trembled as she tried to drink. He hugged her, and for a moment she let herself go in his arms, but then she moved away from him and began to beat on his chest.

  “Why? Why? Why?” she screamed at him, a fresh wave of tears washing over her.

  His throat felt choked, and tears blurred his vision. He looked into her eyes and said, “Why does this need to be so difficult? Why don’t we deserve to have our love, simply, openly, and freely?” He leaned against the wall, buried his face in his hands, and burst into tears.

  “I need to go,” said Rona. “I have a life out there. I have an office that’s waiting to hear from me. I have a husband whose nerves I might not know how to handle, and I have children who need a mother and not a wet rag, but I can’t see myself without you.”

  Udi held her shoulders, and his voice cracked. “Go do your things. I’ll call in a few more days, and we’ll reach a decision together. We’re not in any shape to make serious decisions at the moment, don’t you think?”

  “May God give me the strength,” she replied.

  Chapter 72

  His phone rang, and the word “Mom” appeared on the screen.

  “Isn’t it a bit early to be calling, Mom? Is something wrong?”

  “Maybe it’s nothing, but I wanted to tell you something,” she said in a weak voice.

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing,” she repeated. “Your father fell out of bed this morning.” Her voice shook. “He hit his forehead on the floor, and blood was all over his face. I managed to turn him over and clean his face, but I couldn’t get him back into bed.” She was quiet for a moment, and Udi heard her sniffling and coughing.

  “I’m here,” he said. “I’m listening.”

  “I wanted to talk to him.” She tried to steady her voice. “He murmured something, but it was clear that he wasn’t with me. Believe me, my son. I’ve known him for sixty years. I sat by him and stroked his forehead. He was breathing heavily, and once in a while, he made a sound. I called out his name, but he didn’t answer. I cried, I asked him not to leave me. I hugged him. I held his head. I kissed him. I was afraid that his breathing would stop, so I put my ears close to his mouth to hear if he was breathing. I was afraid to leave him alone to make a phone call because I felt like I was keeping him alive.

  “Afterward, I called Simha. She came quickly. I wanted her to hug me and tell me that it was nothing, that in another moment it would pass, but I saw how her eyes filled with tears. She went over to him, lifted his head, and placed a pillow underneath it. Afterward, she soaked part of a clean towel in a glass of water and brought the towel to his mouth. He opened his mouth and sucked the water. Oh, Udi! She came over and hugged me. ‘I love him,’ she said. ‘We were having a conversation. He can’t go now.’ We hugged and cried. ‘I’ll call the doctor,’ she said to me. ‘Call your children and tell them that it’s time to come and say goodbye. There might not be another opportunity.’

  “The doctor came within fifteen minutes. He checked his blood pressure and looked into his eyes. He asked Simha to help him, and together they placed him back in bed. Your father has lost half of his weight, so it wasn’t hard to lift him. I asked the doctor what was happening. Without getting into medical terminology, the doctor told me that he won’t last much longer in this state. I asked again, ‘Is there anything that we can do?’ The doctor said to just talk to him and not leave him alone. Simha said that she massaged him and that she tried to help his blood flow. He needs to be stroked and hugged, and he needs to be spoken to all the time. He can’t be left alone.”

  “Oh, Mom, I’m sorry. This is horrible. Where is Simha now?”

  “She’s here with me. We’re holding hands and looking at him.”

  “Mom, you have gone above and beyond,” said Udi. “You gave him a good life. Don’t fight his situation; just be there in love and acceptance. What needs to happen will happen. I love you, and I’ll get there as fast as I can. Kiss him and tell him that it’s from me.”

  “I promise,” she said. “Come quickly. I need all of you.”

  “Promise,” said Udi, his voice cracking.

  His cell phone gave a warning beep. He looked at the screen and couldn’t believe that he’d forgotten about his session with Assaf, which was set to begin in an hour. What timing, he thought. I really need an hour right now to talk to someone.

  Chapter 73

  “Would you like some herbal tea?” Assaf asked.

  “That would hit the spot,” Udi weakly replied.

  Assaf looked at Udi’s face. “Is something wrong?”

  Udi took a deep breath and said, “Nothing has happened…yet.”

  “You sound so dramatic,” said Assaf. “Let’s talk about what’s going to happen.”

  Udi placed his hands on the sofa and extended his legs in front of him. “I don’t have any more strength,” he said, looking at Assaf.

  “I understand,” said Assaf. “You want to tell me what is making you weak?”

  “Where should I start? With my father or with Rona?” asked Udi with a measure of cynicism.

  “Why not start with whatever is blocking the sun? What is the biggest issue right now?”

  Udi was silent and his breathing became heavy. He took a breath and wanted to speak, but a wave of tears choked him up. He tried to stop the tears by taking deep and slow breaths.

  Assaf leaned forward and looked him in the eye. “It’s okay, take your time.”

  “The affair with Rona is too much for me.” Udi met Assaf’s gaze. “I’m going crazy without her. I want to call her and meet with her all the time. I don’t have the balls to break up my family, and I don’t think that I’ll ever really be with her as a couple in the true sense of the word.”

  Assaf cut him off. “Do you remember who Udi was before he met Rona? Did that Udi live his life thanks to her, or did he live somehow in his own right? Think about the weight that Rona gives to your words when you tell her that you can’t be without her. Think about the tremendous amount of importance that you’re placing on her shoulders. Will you die in some way if you break up with her?”

  Assaf paused. “Think about the next conversation, when you’re looking into each other’s eyes and you say to her, ‘My love, I’m letting you go. You’re free to go. Thanks for being who you were to me.’ Listen to her as she thanks you for being so important to her and says that she’ll remember you forever. Listen when she says that she releases you out of honor and appreciation. Do you want to be part of such a conversation? You both need to understand that despite the intense insanity that has befallen you due to this huge love, nobody’s life is dependent on another’s. Which Udi wants Rona? The one who simply goes along with everything? The one who is incapable of making a decision? Or is it the one who leads and knows how to decide? If you decide to break up, which kind of breakup would be the hardest? The one that comes due to suffering and surrendering? Or the one that’ll happen because the conditions aren’t right, and therefore, for the best interests of the parties involved, it’s right to end it?”


  “How about a glass of water?” asked Udi, whose throat was dry.

  “You’ve got it,” said Assaf, bringing him a glass of water. “So, where are you now?” he asked.

  Udi gasped for air, filling his lungs. He held his breath before letting it all out.

  “Don’t do that,” Assaf requested. “When you take in air and hold it, that puts pressure on your breathing. Do the opposite. Breathe deep, but not too deep. Then let the air out all the way. Try to exhale as much air as you can. Try to release.”

  “It’s too hard for me. I can’t give her up.”

  “Get up,” ordered Assaf. He stood.

  “Are you kicking me out?” Udi asked.

  “Please, do me a favor and get up.”

  Udi had to summon all of his strength and was barely able to get onto his feet.

  “Sit in my chair,” Assaf requested.

  “Are you bored?” asked Udi. “There are some Legos here if you want to play.”

  As Assaf looked into his eyes, Udi acquiesced and sat down in the chair.

  “Look at the chair that you were sitting in. Concentrate on the image of yourself sitting there. Delve into it, into its soul.” A long moment passed, then Assaf said, “Tell me, based on your knowledge of the guy sitting across from you, what should he do about his relationship with Rona? What would be the correct thing for him to do at this stage of his life?”

  Udi hesitated. What he would say to the man sitting across from him was clear to him, but he blocked his thoughts, not wanting to say it aloud.

  Assaf waited for a moment and then asked Udi to return to his chair. “What advice did you receive from the Udi that was sitting across from you?”

  “He counseled me to reach an unequivocal decision and break off the relationship.”

  “Do you agree with his advice?” Assaf pressed him.

  “I think so,” said Udi.

  “Do you think that ending the relationship is the right thing to do?” Assaf repeated the question.

  “Yes! Yes! Yes!” Udi suddenly raised his voice, losing his cool. A moment later, his voice cracked. He leaned his head into his hands and burst into tears. Assaf sat next to him and hugged him.

  Assaf’s proximity invited a new wave of tears, tears that fought to get out like a carbonated beverage that has been violently shaken and opened.

  “Don’t fight your feelings,” Assaf whispered to him. “Let it all come out. It’s been weighing on you and wants to be released. Allow yourself this moment. It’s okay. It’s fine.”

  Udi looked at the box of tissues on the table. “I always looked at these with indifference,” he said. “I always thought they were for other people, people who sit here and cry. I never thought they’d be for me.”

  Assaf pushed the tissues closer to Udi. Udi took one to blow his nose, and then he took another to dry his tears.

  “Let’s set up a session for next week,” offered Assaf. “Take a few days to think about everything, and let’s agree that next week you’ll deal with your decision, whatever you decide.”

  “Okay, it’s a deal,” said Udi.

  “Let the current take you. Allow yourself to be pulled in any direction that it leads, but try to identify which is the strongest current for you. Remember, next week we come together and make a decision, in whichever direction it may be.”

  “Okay already,” said Udi. “Let me breathe. It’s not easy. I’ll see you next week.” Udi turned toward the door.

  “Are you evading a hug?” asked Assaf.

  “What did you ever get out of a hug with a weak man?” asked Udi cynically.

  “Have you started to be a crybaby?” asked Assaf.

  Udi walked over and gave him a hug. “Thank you,” he said. He walked over to the door but didn’t walk out.

  “You want to add something?” Assaf was quick to ask.

  “My father fell out of bed this morning. He’s kind of out of touch. My mother said that he lost consciousness for a while.” The words forced their way out of his mouth. “I don’t know what his real situation is, and I don’t know when it’ll end. I sit here and pour my heart out, and I don’t know if it’s appropriate to add my father to the mix. I think that I’ve lost all sense of proportion.” He laughed nervously. “I never told my father about Rona, but I’m sure that he’d have had a thing or two to say about it. I’m sure that he had more than one affair over the course of his life. He’s fighting for his life, and I’m all swept up in a huge story that is taking me on a direct flight to nowhere.”

  “Do you want to sit down a bit longer and talk about your father?” asked Assaf.

  “Do we have any more time?” Udi raised his eyebrows.

  “Sit down and tell me about your father. Say whatever you want.”

  “My father lost his will to live. Lately, he just sits around, lays in bed, stares at the ceiling, and doesn’t communicate much.” Udi grew silent.

  “Where are you?” Assaf asked.

  Udi sighed and collected himself. “I wanted to ask him about his life, about the thoughts running around in his head, about his approaching death, but I didn’t dare. I couldn’t see how it was worth bringing that stuff up to a person when the end was so near.”

  “The opposite is true,” said Assaf. “Now is the time to speak freely with him, to tell him about your fears, to ask him about things from your childhood, to share your hardships with him, to ask about his own, to hug him and hold him. Leave aside all of the baggage you carry as father and son. You’re going to say goodbye to him—and he to you—so open a clean channel, pure and full of love for him.”

  “What are you talking about?” Udi burst out. “Don’t you understand that my father lost consciousness this morning? What channel? With whom? He is already half dead. I’m afraid to go and visit him!”

  “So go there and sit by him. Hold his hand, stroke his arm, try to be with him alone, and then talk to him. Say whatever you want. Tell him what kind of father he was for you, and tell him what you would have wanted from him.”

  A loud wail escaped Udi’s throat, and he began to sob uncontrollably.

  Assaf sat quietly, watching Udi. “I think that there are things you wanted to say to him and have repressed for many years,” he continued. “Don’t say them in an accusing tone, but share your thoughts and feelings with him as you would with a friend. Sit by his side with his hand in yours and tell him everything. Tell him how you experienced him as a husband to your mother, tell him who was good to you and who was bad. Don’t try to settle any scores with him about anything, but try to let everything out. Look into his face and think about how he would react if he were conscious. Don’t be afraid to sit by his side for a long time and simply be silent. If anything else comes into your mind, say it to him. Your proximity to your father lying in a coma will make you think many thoughts. Take a journey through those thoughts as a gardener travels through a flower garden. You’ll learn that an inner voice, the voice of your father, speaks inside of you. All of a sudden, you’ll find that you can talk to him and hear words of wisdom, even as he’s lost consciousness, and even after his soul leaves his body.”

  Waves of sobbing and tears made Udi’s shoulders shudder as he let go.

  Assaf said, “Don’t put off going to see him any longer. There is a huge difference between having a conversation with your father when he’s still breathing and his hands are warm and having a conversation with a gravestone looking back at you. Get yourself together and go and see your father. Give your mother a hug, see your brother and your sister, and don’t be judgmental with anybody over the next few days. Don’t be angry. Share this experience with your children and try to be there for them. I promise you that soon we’ll get back to dealing with the issues that you’d like to address, but for now, allow yourself to be with your father.”

  Udi heaved a giant si
gh and stood up. Assaf gave him another glass of water and left his arm on his shoulder.

  All of a sudden, Udi felt that he was strong. He knew what he wanted to do. He needed to end things with Rona and leave it behind him. He knew how much he would miss her, but he’d had enough. He had decided. He didn’t need it. He needed love and family. He needed to work on his relationship with Varda. Suddenly everything seemed possible.

  He called his sister, Orit. She answered the call by saying, “I know. Mom told me.”

  “I’m sure she told you. I wasn’t calling about that,” Udi said, feeling amazed that she found it so important to say that she already knew and not, for example, to express grief or condolences. “How are you?” he asked, “How are you feeling about this?”

  “It’s not easy,” said Orit. “But that’s life. We’ll figure out how to deal with it and when.”

  “The doctor said there isn’t much time left,” Udi added. “We should meet there tomorrow, the three of us, and we can talk and go over the situation. Mom needs us more now than usual, and I think it would be good for us all to talk about what we need to do and what kind of presence we need to maintain there for the time being.”

  “Fine,” said Orit. “I’ll come after work. It’ll be toward evening. I’ll talk to you before I get there. Show up whenever you can. I’m sure that you’ll find something to do even before I arrive.” Her tone was argumentative and she was impatient.

  Udi knew her well. He knew that he had to be careful not to offend her sense of honor, and she hadn’t sounded pleased about his initiative concerning their father’s condition. However, this was not the time to create tension between them.

  “I’ll try to get there earlier,” he said. “No pressure. We’ll wait for you until you get there.”

  Udi took a deep breath and called Ethan, his younger brother.

  “What’s up, Udi?” he replied as usual.

  “I’m fine. Have you talked to Mom today?”

  “Truth is that I messed up a bit. She called me this morning, but I wasn’t able to talk. I promised to call her back, but I forgot. You know Mom; she’ll never complain or pressure someone, so she was probably just waiting for me to call back. About an hour ago I was going over my call log, and I remembered that she called. Seems our father is in some trouble, so I didn’t really miss much.”