Dorothy - A Life in Stories, 2023

Epilogue

On February 17, 2014 Herman Shooster passed away. I am trying to collect my thoughts of the last eight months which are indelible in my heart and in my mind. Why aren’t I constantly crying which would seem very normal at this time? Don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of tears, but lots of composure as well. It boggles my mind. Why aren’t you hysterical at this time? As I look back I know a little bit why. The rest of the hysterics could come later, who knows? But one of the reasons I figured out is because I was sitting shiva eight months ago. It happened three days after Herman received the Excalibur Award. He had gone to the doctor as he wasn’t feeling well. The diagnosis was “acute leukemia.” Herman asked the doctor what the next step was and the doctor replied, “You call Hospice.” When I heard that I thought I would be a widow in one week. That’s when the tears flowed. Now fast forward. My family has been superb. There are not enough words to describe how everyone pitched in to be helpful with doctors visits, blood transfusions, almost every week taking him out for rides in the car just to keep him occupied, trips to the office whenever he felt up to it. And constant love and care from everyone. I had an aide for the first two weeks who took Herman to the bathroom twice a night and that was it. After that experiment I thought I would try my best to take care of him. Actually, I am proud of the tender loving care that he got. Nothing was too difficult if that was what he wanted. A week before he passed away he commented that I had a lot of energy and I was his heroine. Wow! It was all worth it to give him the TLC which he absolutely deserved. On Monday, February 17, 2014, Herman was supposed to go the doctor to be tested for a blood transfusion. Dr. Feig, his oncologist, said that even if he went for the transfusion it would not help him any more. With that, Herman said for us to call Hospice. We would never call them unless Herman said it was time. They delivered a hospital bed and put it in front of our bed in the master bedroom. I had a good friend of our family come at 8 PM plus the Hospice nurse. They were so good together; it was like having a sister and brother helping out. That went on for three days with those two helpers. On the third day eleven of our fourteen grandchildren were here. They all held hands and each one would say something to him. Some couldn’t talk at the moment until they gained their compo- sure. Although there was so much sadness, there were also laughs intermittently. My children broke down terribly. They loved this guy so. He was each one’s best friend. Then Abigail, who is sixteen years old, played the guitar and sang the Beatles’ song, “Let it Be.” There is a line in that song that triggered extreme emotion in our daughter, Wendy. In all the years I have known her I have never saw her carry on like that. They were extremely close. Wendy’s office at work is right next to Dad’s with a glass partition. For almost thirty years, every time she got off a business call she would be in Herman’s office discussing the call. He would light up whenever she would walk into a room. It was an extremely close relationship.

370

Made with FlippingBook interactive PDF creator