Page 191 - The Legacy of Abraham Rothstein - text

The loss of Fannie

and her husband brought her out of danger and prolonged her life
for another two years. In October 1951 the murderous mark
appeared on her neck in the form of a small gland, and another
operation had to be performed. After four days in the hospital she
came home to suffer for three months until death freed her from
suffering. Three months is not a long time in the ordinary course of
events if one has hopes and expectations, but when one discusses the
subject of life and death with himself and his fellow beings it is not
three months but three hundred years.
For three months, in bed or sitting up in an armchair, Fannie
arranged her earthly belongings, giving this to one child and that to
the other, and told me how to cook my food after she had left us. It
was like a barbed dagger in my heart and a hot iron searing my brain.
With the calmness of stone and a sorrowful smile she told us the time
when the end would come. She knew the capacity of her strength,
and was not deceived by false hopes. I would say her vision, hearing
and reasoning were as sound and clear as those of Socrates, the
Greek philosopher, before he drank his cup of poison. I suffered
because I could not help her, not even consolation could I give her.
She knew and understood what I wanted to say, and her eyes spoke
more than her voice. Those eyes, the windows of her soul, lit up so
brightly and penetrated into my eyes that I had to turn aside to
swallow the tears that were choking me. On very few occasions did
she burst into tears over her misfortune; she would quickly stop and
dry her eyes when I began to cry, and hold my hand begging me not
to cry.
She had a golden heart, a heart that went out for all people who
suffered. She contributed to Crippled Children, Orthopedic Hospital,
Tuberculosis Society, Red Cross, Red Mogen David, and several
others, according to our means. And then she had like steel to suffer
within, and not have others see her dying of cancer. It was her wish
to be buried the simplest way, with few people at the cemetery, and
we did bury her in the Hillside Cemetery in a plain casket. Our
married life was not always smooth traveling. When two persons live
together so many years in a house, there must be sometimes a little
argument on some unworthy matter, but Fannie wrote a last letter to
me when she left for the last operation and sensed that her end was
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