TRANSITION AND A NEW LIFE

by Alembika Woman and Guest Blogger, Marsha Rosenberg

I was feeling the usual shiver as I entered the hospital.The bright flickering fluorescent lights assaulted my eyes as well as my sensibilities. The maze of long white halls was like a pretzel, always confusing me with where to turn left or right. 

Instead of relief when I finally approached Alan’s room, fear consumed me not knowing what crisis he would experience on this day. Six months in a hospital is unimaginable to anyone, but that duration in an ICU is similar to a horror show. A double lung transplant is beyond what we consider to be major surgery. After that were months of bouncing between rehab facilities, more crises and back to hospitals. 

Alan’s stubbornness was a blessing and a curse. He refused to give up, but turned into a roaring lion when told what to do. He was the perfect specimen of a self made man: extremely confident, broad shouldered, and fearless! 

His father became gravely ill when Alan was a young boy. He quickly became the supporting rock for his younger sister and mother. After graduating college he contributed dollars toward his sister’s college education, it was necessary and expected of him, even though he was married and had a baby son. He was well aware of his obligations. I was a young wife, romance was my guiding light and delighted with our baby son at Alan’s college graduation. 

Eventually after fifteen months with a mixture of his unimaginable courage and horrors Alan died. My loss was huge, a gaping hole where forty-six years of marriage and memories emerged: Reflections of our Saturday nights disco dancing, our shared love of all music, our sometimes conflicting approaches to raising our two sons, his delight in my modeling advocation and the joy of realizing success when he created an innovative business that gifted us in so many ways.

We truly complimented each other’s personalities. Our seesaw of life was usually balanced. Six weeks prior to Alan’s death he told me he did not want me to be alone after his demise. He predicted there would be a line at the door after he checked out. He explained he wanted me to have a playmate. He said he knew he was a good husband in most ways, but not as adventurous outside the home as I was.I was aghast and concerned that his mental acuity was destroyed by the thirty-five pills he was required to take daily, as well as a stomach tube. His body was imploding similar to the collapse of a cement structure.

Alan died! 

The first person to arrive to offer support was Leon. Many years before our mothers

had been close friends, playing mahjong week after week. Over the years our paths occasionally crossed, we always wished each other well. Now we were both in our sixties, both vibrant and young at heart. Leon had been widowed four months earlier and his wife’s long illness prepared him to be an ideal grief partner. We would sit quietly lost in our own thoughts. 

One day while chatting in my sunroom with sunlight bouncing off my orchid plants I noticed Leon’s gold ring was an identical coin to my cherished heirloom bracelet. Our moods lifted and by discussing our life’s experiences our love story was kindled. Leon’s explanation to the phenomena is that our mothers sat on a cloud in heaven and orchestrated our romance. A new beginning erupted, at our current ages we marveled that it was colorful and dynamic, coup d’eclair, translation, beautiful colorful fireworks.

Marcia is wearing Alembika’s Cloud Tank Dress.

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