When my wife Diane died 10 days ago, temporarily the most awkward position in the family hierarchy was occupied by her former husband, Leonard Stein. Friends since their divorce two decades ago, the father of Diane’s four children handled his Not Exactly Still in the Front Row role with brilliant aplomb.
His seamless execution of his unsolicited Impossible to be Comfortable role should be a model for all blended families who follow.
He has experience in this seemingly squeezed position. Smoothly and without fanfare, he has been deeply involved in the lives of their children and grandchildren throughout his single years.
Like a finely tuned rare instrument, Mr. Stein deftly demolished any possibility of putative clumsiness. during Diane’s last days that seethed with motions and emotions of love.
Two weeks ago Saturday, Diane went into the hospital for the final
time. It was immediately evident that her ALS-wracked, rapidly deteriorating body was in a staredown with unbeaten Death.
The next afternoon, Mr. Stein and his elder son, Lauren, unobtrusively entered writhing Diane’s room. I was at her bedside, and the worried Mr. Stein looked on wordlessly, respectfully.
Monday evening, well after a hospice decision had been made, Mr. Stein escorted his younger daughter, Sanda, into the room just after she had flown in from her Portland home. The mother-daughter meeting was unbelievably emotional, Diane telling Sanda she was sorry she would not be able to see her graduate nursing school next spring. “Just be sure you graduate.”
Again, Mr. Stein observed apparently wordlessly but worriedly, remaining a distance in the background.
I don’t remember if he came to the hospital Tuesday.
Diane came home at mid-afternoon Wednesday, and the human traffic about her hospice bed was stunningly dense, Mr. Stein among the introspective visitors.
The same tragic scene was replicated on Thursday and Friday, when she drew her last labored breath at 6:30, one hour before Shabbat.
Displaying magnificent respect and restraint, Mr. Stein, silently, observed each day.
I don’t know if he was hurting as much as I. I would be surprised if he were not.
At Sunday’s burial service in Westlake Village, Rabbi Einbinder acknowledged Diane’s husband and children while Mr. Stein looked on in undoubted matching anguish.
Throughout last week’s shiva period of prayers and receiving visitors, Mr. Stein was a daily full participant – and a comforter of other bereaved persons.
For his support and loyalty, I will be grateful until my last breath.
