I'm a bad husband

I sometimes get frustrated with my wife for holding long, detailed deliberations regarding important topics and decisions... entirely inside her head.  I get frustrated because after 20 minutes of silence, during which I assumed she was reading or working on her computer, she will suddenly blurt out, "So, I think the best thing to do would be to have them both attend camps closer to home this sumer."

What I didn't realize was that during those 20 minutes of silence she had been vigorously debating various camp options for the big kids... weighing interests/requests, coordinating pick-up times and carpools with her own work schedule... budgeting fees... figuring out wardrobe/footwear options and the possible need for additional equipment... and a hundred other important factors. 

So, when she blurted out her conclusion... it made perfect sense to her.  But it made absolutely no sense to me since I wasn't privy to any of the internal discussion leading up to her pronouncement.

I'd have to say that these silent deliberations of hers are arguably the most common source of 'unkind words' that pass between us.

Then came yesterday. 

I got a call from my mom in the early afternoon with the news that my brother was on his way to the hospital... more than likely for surgery due to what sounded like appendicitis.

My mom didn't really have much solid information other than to tell me that my little bro had been suffering for hours with severe abdominal pain and had gone to the hospital after having decided that he couldn't make it through the night. 

The call from my mom had come as I was walking into a meeting... a meeting of which I have no recollection. 

What I do remember was sitting and thinking that my baby brother (8 years my junior) doesn't belong in the hospital on an operating table.  Forget that he is married with two kids and living/working in the SF Bay area.  In my mind he is a carefree, tow-headed toddler who follows me around like a puppy dog.  He idolizes me and will do literally anything to catch and hold my attention.  He will run and fetch my shoes if I pretend to time him with my watch... and when he thinks I'm not looking, I catch him trying to imitate the way I stand... wear my baseball hat... drink from a glass.

I didn't get any more updates for the remainder of the afternoon and went about my business in a complete fog.  At some point I must have done a bit of on-line research about appendicitis to see what risks are involved and to reassure myself that this is a no-sweat procedure... like removing a wisdom tooth or setting a bone after a fall.  But all I found myself reading were horror stories about burst appendixes, septic abdomens and people ignoring the symptoms until it was, sadly, too late. 

I don't remember much about my drive home.  I'm sure I chatted with the people in the car as we drove along the seam between the Judean Desert and the Hevron hills, but my mind was sitting in the waiting room of a California hospital, trying to find out about my brother... asking nurses and clerks if they had any news... waiting for a doctor to come striding out from behind swinging doors to give me news about a little blond boy who hadn't existed for more than three-and-a-half decades.

Zahava and I had made plans to meet a blogger connection from the states for coffee in the German Colony at 8PM, so when I got home I tried to focus only on that.  He is the fiance of a blogger I read and I wanted very much to be a good host. 

The hour or so before we headed into Jerusalem was filled with oohing and aahing over Gilad's silver medal that he'd won in the national volleyball championship that afternoon... chasing Yonah around the livingroom... talking with Ariella about her day... going out to pick up pizza for the kids to have for dinner. 

Yet all that time I was almost completely inside my own head,... wondering why I hadn't heard from someone in the states about how my brother was doing.  I wanted to call, but a part of me didn't want to admit to anyone how scared shitless nervous I was. 

Make all the jokes you want about middle aged men becoming morbid... but this is the time of life when death makes that critical transition from being something that happens in history books and to other people, to something that happens to everyone... particularly those you love.

As Zahava and I drove into Jerusalem we might have talked about the kids' plans for the summer...  and about weddings and bar mitzvahs we will be attending in the coming weeks.  Who knows what the hell we talked about?  Surely not me, because I was back in the hospital waiting room, breathing in the cloying smell of antiseptic and fear... watching other people brace themselves for the bad news that was waiting patiently to jump out from behind swinging doors and blow their worlds apart. 

Every so often people would be called in beyond those swinging doors... never to be seen again.  But the only news that ever came out was carried by weary surgeons in rumpled, sweaty scrubs and discarded masks that sagged uselessly around their necks.  A few mumbled words... "extremely serious condition"... "did everything we could"... "sorry for your loss"... followed by the inevitable wail of disbelief.

While all this was playing out in my head, we had a perfectly lovely chat with our guest (and one of his relatives) over cappuccinos and iced teas.  I think (hope) I held up my end of the conversation, but I'm really not sure.

Another blogger friend (who I hadn't even known was in the country) made an appearance out of the fog and sat down at a nearby table sipping an iced drink and eating an impossibly large piece of cake.  We exchanged a few pleasantries (I hope) but I don't recall exactly what we said, or why he was here.

When my cell phone rang I wasn't even fully aware of having answered it until I heard my daughter's voice on the other end saying,  "Hi Abba.  Grandma just called to say that uncle Benjamin is out of surgery and everything went OK.  What is she talking about?!"

I mumbled a promise to explain everything when I got home and hung up the phone.  As I turned to Zahava to give her the news I realized that I hadn't been breathing for the last hour or four.  Suddenly I was getting big, intoxicating lung-fulls of air and it was so unbeleivably refreshing that I didn't want to stop it long enough to talk.

Finally I leaned over towards Zahava and exhaled one long phrase directly into her ear, "Honey Benjamin's out of surgery everything's OK."

I figured she'd be as relieved as I was to hear the good news... so I momentarily confused by her knitted brow and the pointed question, "What do you mean he's out of surgery?  Why was he in surgery!"

It was at that moment I realized that I hadn't mentioned anything to anyone since talking to my mother.  Not to my assistant... not to my boss... not to my carpool mates... and [~smacks forehead~] not to my family!  Nobody!!!

I hurriedly brought Zahava up to speed, and for her part she took it all in stride.  But I could feel my cheeks burning at having done what I'd accused her of so many times.  Instead of pouring her decaf cinnamon latte into my lap (as she rightly should have) she simply smiled and went back to our conversation with our guests.  At that point I mostly rejoined the conversation as well... hoping against hope that nobody had noticed my previous absence.

We parted from our guests and walked back to the car through the cool evening air.  It had been an extremely hot day so the soft breeze was a welcome change.  I was also getting the hang of breathing again.  In... out... in. 

I waited during the ride home for Zahava to ask me what the hell I had been thinking, keeping Benjamin's condition to myself... but it never came. 

When we got home I answered the big kids' questions about their uncle and did my best to make it sound like a wisdom tooth or a broken wrist... a silly thing that was all in the past.  After all, why worry them?  For them, death is still something that happens in history books, not in families. [tfu, tfu, tfu]

After we climbed into bed, I waited for the other shoe to drop with Zahava.  Surely she wasn't going to let me off the hook so easily.  After all the times I'd chastised her for keeping things to herself and having entire conversations in her head without me.... oy, did I have it coming.

But the shoe never dropped.

It seems that either Zahava is the world's most understanding wife... or she has grown accustomed to having a really, really bad husband.