Ruti Kadish

This morning our mother ended her life with dignity. My sisters, Tammy Kadish-Harper and Orna Kadish Ishak and I accompanied her to Switzerland yesterday and today we said goodbye at the Dignitas ‘blue house’.

There is so much to say about this process, about the last few months since we entered it, and the last week of goodbyes. I hope to write about this at greater length as I process it fully. In the meantime a few thoughts and feelings keep bubbling up.

In some sense this past week felt like we were ‘sitting’ an extended pre-shiva with my mom as friends and family came to say goodbye to her. They got to say and we got to hear all the ways in which they loved, appreciated and admired her and were in awe of (or in some cases shocked and troubled by) her decision.

For my sisters and me, hearing all this was a mixed bag. My mom was very much a daughter of her generation-raised in the ideological rigidity of the early kibbutz mov’t. While she surely loved and cared for us, her enthusiasm, mentorship, and even her outright affections were bestowed more readily and regularly on the nurses she managed and mentored over her storied nursing career. To her last moments, every request was actually a demand with little if any thought or regard to how any of this impacted us. We’re practiced at managing our expectations but nonetheless we can’t help but raise an eyebrow and, thankfully numerous times a day, enjoy a belly laugh together.

While my mom enjoyed the kudos and compliments, especially from former co-workers who worked under her, my sisters and I agreed that she was mostly humoring her visitors. She listened kindly but if it was socially acceptable she’d probably say, ‘let’s get on with this already’. In fact when folks got overly emotional, she reminded them to take a deep breath and that everything is okay; this is what she wants.

Since getting her Dignitas date about a month ago, her response to our daily “how are you” was: “waiting.” She was resolute and never hesitated to explain why she chose this step: extending life is not necessarily worth it. Always fiercely independent, nearing 94, now with a full time care giver, frequent falls and breaks, terribly hard of hearing even with her aids, deteriorating vision, and more, she hated her life and who she had become. It was hard to hear her so miserable and desparate. We all – her daughters, her 9 grandchildren, her sons-in-law – we all got it. We all supported her decision.

When we started this process, we were told and I could imagine that this period leading up to our date at Dignitas might be profound. What I didn’t anticipate was the many moments of joy and laughter. I had prepared my mom’s shiva announcement (מודעת אבל) and when we asked her if she wanted to approve it, she burst out laughing: “sure!”

On Monday evening- our last evening before leaving for Zurich- we gathered in her small independent living apartment with 6 of 9 grandchildren present. Tammy made sure we had no less than 5 pints of Ben & Jerry’s with a couple of new flavors for my mom to taste. Having ice cream for dinner fueled much joking given my mom’s life long weight obsession, and not just regarding her own weight. It was only in the last week that she allowed herself to ‘go wild’ and have ice cream almost daily.

Yesterday afternoon, after arriving in Zurich, we met with the Dignitas doctor. His task was to confirm that she was of sound mind and still intent on ending her life. “I’m giving you the key” he said, “and you have to open the door.” He couldn’t have been more gentle and loving. My mom was pleased that he is Jewish and had spent time on a kibbutz near her childhood kibbutz.

I think we were all surprised that he teared up. My mom, true to character, comforted him: “it’s ok.”

While waiting the requisite 30 mins between the anti-nausea medication and the medication to end her life we video-chatted with the grandkids gathered at Yasmin’s apartment in Tel Aviv. There was a lot of love and laughter on all sides. And a few tears. And upon her request we listened to two versions of אין לי ארץ אחרת.

To our delight and surprise she had loving parting words for us.

I couldn’t be more grateful to

Dignitas for being such a humane, dignified and loving organization and affording us the option to help our mom go on her own terms and be the author of her narrative.

I am also so grateful for, and to, my sisters – to Orna, who lives in Israel and on whom my mom’s care has fallen on all these years, and who in these past months has driven and coordinated the Dignitas process. And to Tammy, who always took on the hardest (and dirtiest) tasks for the longest periods and, hands down, was the best ‘nurse’ between us (she waited 50 years for this one compliment from my mom and,btw, I’m hands down the worst nurse and my mom said as much).

I love you, Orna and Tammy beyond measure. I don’t have the words or skill to capture how much going through this together has and continues to mean.

And finally to my mom, Ima. While the forever part of this goodbye is somehow still incomprehensible, it was profoundly beautiful. As my brother-in-law Yosi, wrote so aptly, “you instilled in us all your Shifra-ness and you bade us farewell today with your head held high and a straight back. You inspire us with your strength, courage and integrity.”

‎ נוחי על משכבך בשלום

(Rest in peace)

you’ve earned it.

מודעת

Yasmin Harper

The past few years asking my savta how she is doing has gotten me and all my family the same response – מושכת. And we would laugh but we would understand that for her she meant it. She felt that her time had passed and she was being dragged through life unwillingly. We would watch her carefully check her blood pressure and tell us about her diet and wonder who exactly was keeping her from dying, but we would be understanding and try to convince her to have another scoop of ice cream because yalla nu after 90 you deserve it. She never folded and would wave us away and we would sigh, but that’s savta. A few months ago she decided that enough is enough and she was going to take her death into her own hands and took us all on a journey we never thought we would experience. We always said savta prepared us for her death and suddenly that feeling took on a much more literal meaning. There’s a kind of absurdity that comes with the journey and I don’t know if every family who goes this route feels it but we certainly did. Taking days off for the shiva and funeral a month in advance, explaining to her that it doesn’t make sense to take the plates and silverware early if she still is going to use them for a few more weeks, planning around and for her death. Conversations have become more and more surreal over this journey and there has been this shared experience among my family of understanding the absurdity and silliness and sadness and reality of it all. This shared feeling when people say that they are sad for us and for her and they give us their condolences and we want to say thank you but we are happy for her. Because in these months מושכת turned to מחכה and hard conversations about her suffering turned into conversations about her childhood and her life and she smiled and laughed. She made it easy because she was so sure and so herself all the way to the end. I am so grateful for her and my family and in many ways I am grateful to have this experience and to be able to have watched my savta leave this world with dignity and her head held high and yes even checking her blood pressure the morning of her death. No one deserves this peace more than you savta. We will be waiting for the messages you send us from above and we’ll try to be half the woman you were. Rest in peace savta love you