The Dress Rehearsal
by Patti Rosenbloom

The turtle could not right itself. It was stuck between the proverbial rock and a hard place. Its elongated neck rapidly pulsed with the urgent, undeniable life force that accompanies a resigned end. Ruth frantically scanned the dull gray rocks. She hoped for a way to free the creature from its suffering and see it crawl away into the rest of its life. Gingerly, she released a rock right beside the weakening reptile, only to see its bulk buried under the oppressive weight of jagged stones. Her startled breath caught tightly in her throat as she awoke to the window-framed reflection of her shadowed face. The drone of jet engines reminded her of where she was going and why. It had been eight years since her last visit with Grandma Yaffa. Since then, Yaffa's mind and body had gone adrift. Ruth was traveling to Israel to say goodbye before the person Yaffa had always been would no longer be there.

As the wheels bounced along the runway, her fellow passengers clapped, giving thanks for their safe passage. Now Ruth would have to face saying goodbye to Yaffa. Ruth remembered with sobering clarity her senior year in college when the overlapping, mind-numbing news of the demise of several close relatives had interrupted her extended childhood. Her 40-year old father had been diagnosed with leukemia and was given a month to live. Two weeks later, her uncle was diagnosed with emphysema and her paternal grandmother's second fall spiraled her down into the quickening sands of a coma. These events were powerful instructions about how devastating a lack of emotional preparation can be when those closest to us are threatened with serious illness and possibly death. In the many years since, she had discovered that she needed to go through a non-linear process of grieving without the filters of intellectualization, drugs, alcohol, over-working or over-spending. In that time it had become clear that the work of Elizabeth Kubler-Ross would guide her through "denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance." Ruth took comfort knowing death was the great equalizer between her and everyone else on the planet, whatever their social status, wealth, or cultural background. No dress rehearsal would ever equip her to face the pain of such loss.

Ruth's family ushered her off to a small cafe and plans were made to see Yaffa straight from the airport. Yaffa was prepared for Ruth's visit and seemed "more animated and alert than usual." After all, Yaffa was 95, and in her own words was a "very old woman now." Upon arriving at the assisted living facility Ruth was struck by the incredibly lush foliage and vibrant tropical flowers that lined the walkways to Yaffa's building. The stark lobby's stagnant air was thick with the scent of cleaning fluids, urine and decay. The slow ascent of the industrial elevator to the third floor shook away any illusion that her grandmother still had "good times" ahead. Facing them were the slack, graying faces of the other residents. Ruth summoned a brave and welcoming smile as they greeted her and was eventually guided past cheerful decorations and exotic fish that darted rhythmically in a nearby tank. In the initial moment before Yaffa became aware of their presence, Ruth took in all the grandeur that time and age had chipped away from her grandmother. Once her towering Rock of Gibraltar who schlepped her to museums, the theater, and shopping for "a good deal," she now looked unbearably fragile leaning on her walker. Spontaneously Ruth was flooded with memories of heated political discussions about the injustice of racism, the civil rights movement, and Yaffa's involvement in a pre-WW II underground movement before escaping the Nazis. Her smile, once a source of great comfort, was darkened by the absence of teeth. Her eyes, once shiny with self-righteous intelligence, were now clouded over by cataracts. Ruth felt totally unprepared. She felt her clothes as damp and too tight from all the travel. Nonetheless Yaffa recognized Ruth immediately, reached out her arms to embrace her and called out, as always: "I can't believe it! Is it really you, Ruth, Darling? I am so happy to see you! You've come to visit me at last!" Ruth held on to Yaffa for dear life.

During the next six days Ruth visited with Yaffa for hours at a time. After catching up on current family happenings, they once again discussed politics, culture and shared memories from another place in time. Intermittently, Yaffa drifted in and out of their shared present to ask if Ruth lived in America or locally. Did Ruth have a family now? Yaffa wondered whether she too could return to America?

Once a generous hostess, Yaffa apologized for not being able to provide a "proper snack" or some "nourishment" to visitors. She insisted that she was living with "strangers," who nonetheless had attentively cared for her for over ten years. No one but her daughter "Sonchka" visited her, she stated emphatically, regretting she had not been more loving to Sonchka's four children and her 11 great-grandchildren. Yaffa no longer remembered last speaking to Ruth's mother Ilene, although she had just spoken to her a few days earlier. Yaffa's world had become small. Antiquated fears of routine cataract surgery had stripped her of the willingness to read or to paint political murals. She had refused to go outside the building for months.

Ruth resolved to bring the world to Yaffa during the next visit even if it was only for a short time. Miraculously, she escorted Yaffa and her walker to the lush outdoors, where they sat for several hours together. Yaffa seemed to enjoy the smell of fresh air, flora and even introduced her to a few acquaintances. Back in 1986, Ruth had interviewed Yaffa and her now deceased Grandpa Mordechi about their lives in Poland and beyond. Over two visits Ruth studiously watched as the expression on Yaffa's face changed while she sat under the headphones listening to Mordechi's and her own life stories and their early days as newlyweds in post-World War II America.

Yaffa remarked that she had almost forgotten what his voice sounded like... and yes, she missed him very much. Ruth rested her head on her grandmother's shoulder, remembering the best of Grandpa Mordechi, who had left them eight years ago. He had loved his life despite the cementing confines of Parkinson's disease. He eventually died when diabetes shut down his kidneys and it was too much to bear. With only three days left before she had to return to the USA, Ruth felt the pressure of evaporating time breathing down her neck. How could she possibly convey her gratitude for all Yaffa had done for her? What would be enough?

The next day their talks finally turned towards mortality. Yaffa shared that she felt ready to die. Her quality of life had diminished, and while she was not in pain, she had nothing to live for. Ruth resisted the urge to give her a pep talk and acknowledged how hard it must be to continue this way. Yaffa mentioned the Israeli expression "You should live to be one hundred and twenty" and said she thought it more of a curse...once the mind goes and the body is weak, that's the end of everything. Yaffa did not believe in committing suicide because she did not wish to hurt her family but she did not believe in "artificially" continuing her life. She believed in "fate" and if she was supposed to die she would, "end of story." Yaffa stated she was the oldest person in her building and that most people did not go on as long as she had. It was clear that she was in a dreadful holding pattern of mindful waiting for death. Ruth asked if she feared death and Yaffa replied no. She did not believe in reincarnation, but she did think there was something else.

Long, comfortable silences held them between remembrances of times past. Ruth held her grandmother's hand and remembered the sounds of chopping onions, the smell of turpentine, oil paints and Yaffa's firm grip on the escalator en route to the "bargain basement" and the "great deals." How could Ruth say goodbye when the trajectory was so unclear? How could she say goodbye when Yaffa was still so present? There was no Hospice worker available to "assist" Yaffa and their family in the process of improving the remaining quality of life. There was no "life threatening illness" bearing down with the crushing pressure of countless stones. Without her actual death there could be no relief that accompanies the traditional Jewish practices of "sitting Shiva." There was only the certainty that at some point death would come and claim Yaffa, granting her most fervent wish.

On the last day of Ruth's visit she found Yaffa curled up in bed sleeping. Ruth silently watched the slow rise and fall of the loosely wrapped sheet that covered her tiny body. Sadly, this would most likely be the last time that she would look into Grandma Yaffa's face again. It would be exactly as her Aunt Sonchka had said, "None of us gets out of this life alive, you know?" For the last time Ruth took Yaffa down to enjoy the fresh air and all the sounds of life all around them. Everything that could be said had been said and her heart ached completely. With great sadness and effort Ruth escorted Yaffa and her walker back to her building, through the dingy corridor and waited for their lift to the third floor. The now familiar faces of the other residents smiled and Ruth's wet eyes smiled back. How many of such goodbyes had they seen, remembered or heard? Who would be the next to go? After one last long embrace, and "I love you, I'll call soon and keep going outside for walks!!!" Ruth watched her brave and loving Yaffa walk away, into the rest of her life, alone. There would be no dress rehearsal for Ruth and Yaffa, only waiting and time.