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June 2017

watching a sad movie about someone else's life

except it's mine and i'm living it.

i hope to be more eloquent about what's happened, but right now words are just messy paint splatters on the canvas of my disbelief. that said, words have always been my therapy, so i am trying to cling to them, even if they don't make the sense i want them to. and somehow, this blog seems like the place to do it. soon, i want to start a journal of my own to ronen, chronicling this after, but i'm not ready yet. 

i have been very lucky in my life. i have been sad and disappointed; i have been depressed; i have experienced hardship and lost loved ones. but i have never been robbed like this. this grief, this inescapable fog of disbelief and incomprehension...i've never experienced it before. my days are filled with the awful, time consuming unraveling of bureaucratic red tape and then, the smiles of my kids i try so hard to bring out. and then they're in bed and the silence i used to crave holds something so much more painful than i ever imagined facing. 

i watch videos of him on my phone, and it is like he's going to walk right through the door at any moment - so full of life; usually shirtless and smiling and dancing with our boys. the joy he had for life and experiences was so palpable; so beautiful especially in contrast to my hermit-like tendencies. how someone who lived to move, to bike, to run, to love, to eat, to drink, to laugh, to cry, to talk, to hug, to kiss could be so senselessly taken is insane to me. 

and to say that i never saw it coming is beyond an understatement. sure, i considered the fact that one of us would likely get sick in our older age; that we would care and nurse each other through it as best we could. but this. a brain aneurysm of all the things. a ticking time bomb of tangled arteries that no one would ever see or consider unless symptoms presented themselves...and with an AVM they rarely do. what kind of world is this?

all i want to do is talk to ronen about what has happened. we would be sad together about the cruel fate someone else had suffered and he would initiate contact with them in an attempt to ease their pain in a way that always worked. he had a gift for that, for sincere empathy. and he was always confident that people who were suffering needed the opportunity to talk. that's what made him such a good psychologist. and husband. and son. and brother. and friend. and father. man oh man, what a father.

i think about our boys now, without him and my heart just breaks. what a loss they have suffered by not getting to have him longer. ari is 5, and lev is newly 2. there was so much more to do.

as for myself, when i think about the fact that i have lost the true love of my life; my best friend...i mostly feel nothing but numb. how can it be? what in the world am i going to do without him?

okay, i've exhausted myself with this ramble, but it was helpful, in the way that stringing words together always is. 

Denver


when the writer has no words

Friends. Readers. All of whom I'm so grateful for.

Something horrible has happened, beyond what my imagination could possibly conceive. Last Friday, June 9th, my beloved husband, partner and friend passed away suddenly from a massive AVM brain aneurysm. Ronen Shacham was his name and there was no kinder, more compassionate, curious, excitable and lovely man on the planet. Really and truly. He made me a better person every day. He was an amazing father to our two sons, Ari (5) and Lev (2). He was the axis on which our world spun. The love of my life, and theirs as well.

A fund has been created for us, by wonderful friends whose selflessness astounds and inspires me. The link is here. If you are so inclined, all contributions are greatly appreciated.

This is all, for now, until words make more sense. Until I make more sense. Until we as a family make more sense.

Thank you.

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