Sometimes, you believe that you know someone better than you know yourself, but that suddenly changes and that person starts feeling like a stranger all of a sudden. I felt exactly like that when my wife of fifteen years started pulling away, not only from me but from our daughter too. Honestly, I couldn’t understand why because Levine had always been a devoted mother and a loving wife.
She used to be the woman who filled our lives with warmth, and then out of the blue, she suddenly became so distant that her laughter was replaced by silence. I would see her staring out the window, lost in her thought, or quietly wiping away tears when she thought no one was watching. Whenever I would ask her what bothered her, she’d simply say, “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
When things went too far, I begged her to tell me the truth, because it was more than obvious something was wrong, but she said it wasn’t the right time for any truths to be revealed, and told me to wait.
Then came the day everything unraveled — I returned home with Emily, our daughter, and found an envelope on the table with my name on it.
Inside was a letter from Levine in which she opened up about the things that led to her estrangement from her own family.
Levine had cancer; stage 3. She wrote it was incurable and the prognosis was dull.
Further, she explained that she wasn’t afraid of dying but of the thought of burdening Emily and me, so she checked herself into a hospice two states away.
At that moment, I couldn’t stop my tears. My hearts shattered into pieces when I realized Levine’s silence came from love, not indifference.
Despite her wish to be alone, Emily and I traveled to the hospice the very next day. Seeing her frail broke me, but her face lit up when she saw us. Emily sobbed, “Mom, why didn’t you tell us?” Levine whispered, “I thought it would be easier this way.”
We remained by her side in those final weeks, trying to make new memories. Though her strength faded, her spirit blossomed, offering Emily words of love and wisdom for the days ahead.
When Levine’s last moment arrived, she wasn’t alone. She left this world holding my hand, with Emily by her side. She had hoped to protect us from pain, but in the end, we faced it as one.
Today, Emily and I live with her memory.
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Bored Daddy
Love and Peace
