The cavernous void after losing a loved one

• Published date: 30 September 2021
• Author: HERB KEINON
• Publication title: Jerusalem Post, The: Web Edition Articles (Israel)

"Well," I chuckled, "you are 90."

But my dad didn't see himself as an old man.

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He may have had the hearing of a 90-year-old man, the gait of a 90-year-old man, and at times the short-term memory of a 90-year-old man, but he neither felt nor seemed old.

His secret was twofold. First, he looked with an almost childlike wonder at the world, both natural and technological, that continued into his 10th decade. He could still marvel at the patterns on a sunflower, just as he remained amazed at how all human knowledge ended up on Google.

And, second, he had a tremendous sense of fun and humor.

I flew out to be with my dad in early August after his wife of 36 years suffered a debilitating stroke. My sister and I were taking turns being with him while figuring out the next steps.

Two weeks later he died.

He died of a combination of medical complications following a broken hip he suffered five months earlier, and, I'm convinced, a broken heart following his wife's stroke. He lost my mother 37 years ago, and to go through that all again was just too much for him to bear. My dad was not built to live alone.

MY FATHER was the towering figure in my life. He loved his family deeply and his people and Israel intensely. He was an award-winning teacher who liberally quoted Shakespeare and John Keats, loved biographies, and was fiercely proud to be an American. He regularly listened to Willie Nelson, Pavarotti and marching band music, the latter because it reminded him of his glory days in the US Air force during the Korean War.

No, he didn't fly F-86 Sabre jets, but rather was a clerk typist stationed in California. When the enemy came, my father would frequently quip, using his all-time best line, he backspaced. To his dying day he wore a US veteran baseball cap, and loved talking to strangers who would stop him on the street and thank him for his service.

For the last number of years, we spoke on the phone six days a week for at least 20 minutes, compensating for living so far apart. We saw each other about three times a year before corona upended everything. We made it a point to ensure that my move to Israel nearly four decades ago would not tear us apart. The wonders of technology made sure that it didn't have to.

I knew my father better than I knew anyone else alive. I could tell how he was doing by how he answered the phone, could...