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It was a chilly Friday evening in Berkeley. My mind was a jumble, too much to feel too much to hold. I saw a dark green Toyota driving slowly and parking across the street. I watched, holding my breath and hugging myself tighter. This is him I told myself. The driver of the car opened the car door slowly, came out from the car turned around and closed it. No, it s not him I thought to myself just a similar car . His head was all white around his Kippah, he looked like an elder man. He walked towards me, very slowly, it was him, that wasn t gray hair, that was the shiny skin of his head. All his hair was gone. - How do I look? he said in Russian. - Fine I stared at him Can I hug you? - Yes, please. Same eyes, same familiar smell, same warm hug. He held me as if he was holding his life through me. You didn t lose all your hair, you shaved it, right?
That was my simple version of denying the despair. The story of a black spider that bit him and the cure being only chemotherapy was his mom s. We walked around the block holding each other. His face shinier than ever, his blue eyes cleaner than ever. He spoke softly with pauses of ponder that reminded me why and how much I loved him. We went into the synagogue. He prayed. I cried. *** A tiny fish staying in the air In the middle of my room I ran to bring some water Wondering, if the water was pure I weep in the shower Then put day cream on my face Eye shadow, mascara As if it was, just another day